


Learning to Fall

by druscilla



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Chaptered, Crossover, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Hiatus, Post-Split
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You know most normal people get to know each other before they get married." - Enchanted</i>
</p><p> </p><p>When Ryan told Pete he was pregnant in March of 2007, he found himself in a 24-hour Las Vegas wedding chapel a few hours later. A few days after he found himself in a mansion in Los Angeles, trying to figure out exactly who his husband is and how to live life as someone other than Ryan Ross, all while trying to cope with the life growing inside him.</p><p> <i>"It takes patience to appreciate domestic bliss; volatile spirits prefer unhappiness." - George Santayana</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Counts for Something

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written in 2009.

Ryan squinted his eyes and made a face at the smell of coffee brewing downstairs. Pete only liked coffee that tasted like candy bars, so he didn't know what to make of it. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table and groaned. Wasn't six a little earlier for visitors? Especially when Pete tended to not fall asleep until three or four?

Ryan groaned, wanting to roll over and press his face into the pillow, but he couldn't. Or rather, he _could_ , but refused. Despite the doctor saying it was fine and the confirmation of multiple internet searches, he just couldn't shake the feeling that if he laid on the hardly there baby bump he'd be crushing his future child's head or cutting off their oxygen supply.

There were footsteps and then Pete was in the room again with a mug and his laptop, crawling back into bed and kissing the top of Ryan's head. "You up, baby?" he asked.

The boy groaned. He didn't know how the older boy survived on three hours of sleep but he knew that he couldn't. Ryan could fall asleep and he could stay asleep, so long as someone wasn't typing at all hours of the night and laughing at YouTube videos and getting up repeatedly to go wander around the house and do God knows what. He'd known it was bad, but he'd had no idea just how ridiculous Pete's sleeping patterns were until he'd moved in.

"I'm going to the guest room." Ryan mumbled, not even bothering to sound apologetic. It was too early to bother with being polite.

"O-Okay."

The younger boy shrugged in response and grabbed his phone off the dresser before disappearing down the hallway. This was ridiculous. Pete was on enough medication for his stress and anxiety. Certainly the doctor could give him something for the insomnia. Ryan ended up tossing and turning for an hour, before he finally gave up and went downstairs to make something for breakfast.

\---

Pete had been wincing ever since Ryan left the room and he just lowered his head when he heard the footsteps in the hall, knowing that sound was his fault. He just couldn't help it. And he was so used to it, to not having to worry about how he was affecting another person. And now he had to worry about how he was affecting the person _in_ Ryan as well. It was too much stress, too much guilt. He sighed and pushed the laptop to Ryan's side of the bed, quietly creeping down the stairs.

The boy was making toast. A jar of strawberry jam was on the counter and Ryan's hand was absently resting on his stomach. Pete just stood in silence for a moment, still not speaking when the other boy's eyes came up to find his. It had been just over two months and they were four months along now. Ryan lifted his hand off his stomach to twist at the band of gold on his left ring finger, turning away from Pete when his toast popped up.

"I'm sorry." Pete mumbled, not certain if he was apologizing for the fact that he couldn't sleep or for the broken condom.

Ryan sighed, hardly audible over the sound of the knife scraping across the toast. "You should talk to your doctor about sleeping pills or something."

Pete crossed the room, slipping his arms around Ryan's waist and letting his hands rest on the boy's stomach, his chin on Ryan's shoulder. "I've tried sleeping pills." He started feathering kisses along Ryan's neck. "They don't work."

"I can't live on three hours of sleep like you. Neither can the baby."

It hurt to hear, but Pete knew that wasn't why Ryan was saying it. He watched the boy take a bite of his toast before he spoke. "I guess . . . maybe you should stay in the guest room and I-I'll try to work on it." The end of his sentence was shaky, tentative, like he was too afraid to promise because he knew he'd fail.

Ryan turned his head, kissing Pete softly. His mouth tasted like strawberries.

\---

"What meds do you take anyway?" Ryan asked, appearing in the doorway of Pete's room where the older was scribbling something down in a notepad, probably a grocery list or something else he'd lose before he finished.

Pete looked up, his forehead wrinkling slightly in confusion. "I, uh . . . different stuff. Y'know. Why?"

Ryan shifted awkwardly and bit his bottom lip. "I just think, like, maybe I should know what medications my husband is on?"

It was Pete's turn to clear his throat and nod, just as uncomfortable as the other suddenly. They didn't use those words. Husband, marriage. Which was probably strange and unhealthy, but Pete supposed it was his fault anyway. He'd been the one to suggest the Vegas shotgun wedding. "Um, Xanax. I have Ambien but I don't use it much. Luvox. Some mood stabilizer I don't take anymore."

Ryan stepped into the room, crawling across the bed and kissing the older boy on the mouth. "Just take care of yourself, promise?" he asked. "I can't take care of you and a baby. And I can't take care of a baby without you."

Pete gave him a soft smile, reaching up to stroke his hair. "It's taken care of, Ry. Don't worry."

They spent the next couple of hours in bed, watching television and finishing the list Pete had started of things they needed to pick up at the store.

\---

Ryan couldn't decide if it felt like it had been six months or six days sometimes. In actuality it had only been about seven weeks. He told Pete when he came to Vegas and he had been eight weeks along then. Two days later they'd ended up at one of the twenty-four chapels and Ryan still wasn't sure why he'd gone along with it. Was it for the baby? For Pete? For himself? What had he been thinking? They weren't even dating.

The realization that they knew barely anything about each other came almost immediately when they went to eat afterward and Ryan had to inform Pete he was allergic to mushrooms and so he couldn't try a bite of his entree. It seemed like every day another thing they didn't know about each other was shoved in their faces, a constant reminder that they probably shouldn't have matching wedding bands.

"I'm going to the store for a couple things, Ry." Pete said, coming into the living room and kissing the boy's cheek from behind the couch. "Do you need anything?" He'd gone grocery shopping just two days before, but he had cabin fever and Ryan couldn't blame him.

"Cereal. Like, Honeycomb or Corn Pops or something. And some more hot chocolate." Ryan had been up at midnight every night for the past week. He'd make a mug of cocoa and walk around for a half hour or so. When he opened the door to go onto the balcony Pete would leave his room and keep the boy company. Ryan needed space and so Pete attempted, even if he hated it.

"Do you want juice or soda or anything?"

"Orange juice, yeah. That sounds good." Ryan lifted his hand and fumbled blindly until it touched Pete's cheek. "And some more of those calcium chews. I'm almost out."

Pete planted a light kiss to Ryan's palm. "All right. I'll be back in a bit, babe." There was a heavy silence that only last a moment, like Pete wanted to say something (say _it_ , Ryan knew), but he didn't and then the front door closed. Ryan let out a sigh of relief. He was dreading it, the moment when Pete would say those three words and Ryan wouldn't know what to say back because he refused to lie about something like that. And even if he did love Pete, it was a lie to say it in such a way that went back to being _in love_.

Hemingway had followed Pete to the door, but returned to sit in front of Ryan and glare at the boy. It was a rather normal routine for animal and human. Hemingway didn't like the boy who had moved into his territory and stolen Pete, didn't understand human things like babies and wedding rings and commitment. He just knew that someone who wasn't Patrick was spending too much time in his house. Pete said Hem would get used to it, but they were still waiting on that.

Ryan stared at the television screen for a few more minutes before getting up and wandering down to the basement to look at the DVD case. He thought maybe it would be nice if he and Pete watched a movie that night. Pete had been really wanting to cuddle lately, but Ryan hadn't been too receptive. He thought maybe if they had a movie on he wouldn't feel quite so smothered. He was going to have to get use to Pete's constant need for affection, just like Pete was attempting to get used to Ryan's need for alone time.

Ryan wasn't used to these adult relationships with the balance of give and take. His last boyfriend had been in high school and then he and Brendon had attempted, but it hadn't worked out. So it had just been the comfortable balance of sex and friendship with Pete, that place where they could get what they needed without having to worry about labels and who else the person was sleeping with. Jealousy never worked well on tour. But now everything had changed. Now he was married. Now he was monogamous. Now he had to play the game.

When Pete got home, Ryan had three DVDs on the dresser in the bedroom next to the television, but he was still sitting on the couch. He'd been ignoring the dog's glare until the front door opened and Hem ran off to greet Pete. The boy stood up and walked over to the kitchen, taking things out of the bags Pete was sitting on the counter. "I just have a few more." Pete said, kissing the boy soft on the mouth. "Be right back."

"I thought you were just getting a few things."

"I'm a consummate over-achiever." Pete said as the door shut behind him.

Ryan picked up a can of chicken noodle soup before realizing he had no idea where it went. He was still staring at it when Pete came back. "Do I live here?" Ryan asked, turning to stare at him.

Pete got a look on his face like he was confused whether or not it was a trick question. ". . . yeah?" he tried, setting the rest of the bags down on the corner.

"Then why the fuck do I not know where anything goes? I have no idea where this goes." He slammed the can down on the corner, causing Hemingway to give a low growl. "I still don't know where the dish soap is or where you keep the disposable razors. I have no idea how your DVDs are arranged, but there's definitely some fucking order to them. I . . . I . . ." He leaned forward, bracing his weight against his arms on the counter and trying not to cry.

Pete reached forward tentatively, his hand resting on the boy's back. "You just moved in, Ry. It's not a big deal. You'll figure it out."

"It's been six weeks." Ryan turned to stare at him, his eyes over-wide to try and fight the tears. He was swallowing against the lump in his throat.

"And we haven't had soup yet. Big fucking deal."

"Easy for you to say." the boy snapped. "It's your house. You live here. Your friends are here. Hardly anything's changed for you. You don't even have to change your sleep schedule. But I have to move and uproot and figure out how to be married while this thing is growing inside of me and my clothes don't even fit the same."

Pete wanted to snap back. He really did. There were a million things he wanted to yell floating around in his head and Ryan could tell that by the look on his face. Instead, he kept his voice low and said the one thing he really shouldn't have. "Look, I get that your hormones are all fucked up, but you don't have to take it out on me."

Ryan slapped him.

Hemingway ran forward, barking, teeth bared and Pete stepped in front of the boy on instinct, kneeling down to stop the dog. "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay." When the barking didn't cease and the teeth were still showing, Pete's fingers hooked into the dog's collar. "Hem, _stop_ ," he ordered in a voice he rarely used on the animal.

Ryan couldn't handle it anymore. He had to get out of the house. He hadn't left since he'd started to show. He grabbed his car keys off the shelf by the door and ran, ignoring the voice calling after him, ignoring the tears on his cheeks. He just needed a break. He needed to get out. He needed to forget that he was married, was pregnant, that he wasn't legally Ryan Ross anymore.

The only problem, he realized, as he took off down the road, was he had no idea where he could go to forget.

\---

Pete was sitting up when Ryan got home at three. He was waiting at the doorway when the boy came in and Ryan couldn't place the emotion on his face, like it was too much of a combination to decipher. He was expecting a yell or at least a low, angry voice to come out, but Pete just hugged him. Ryan could feel the bump between them, Pete's stomach against his and he bit his bottom lip because, as confused as he felt about everything, _this_ felt right.

"You scared me." Pete whispered. "God, fuck, Jesus, Ry." He stood up straight, hands tugging at his hair. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? You didn't answer your phone. You could have been in a car wreck and I wouldn't have even . . . I . . ." He put his face in his hands and this time the younger boy initiated the hug.

"I'm sorry." he whispered. And he meant it. "I just . . . I snapped. I just needed to get out for awhile. I didn't mean to scare you." There was a pause. "I'm sorry I hit you, too."

Pete nodded, taking his hands off his face to put them on Ryan's cheeks. "I didn't . . . I didn't mean to blow you off or whatever. Like, saying it was the hormones. I get that this all new and shit." He kissed the boy, soft at first, then deepening it.

Ryan couldn't help but feel that nothing had really been resolved no matter how _nice_ the situation felt as they made their way back to the bedroom. He could tell Pete wanted to have sex and he still didn't want to, but he thought maybe he'd give in just so they wouldn't have to fight again so soon. Ryan wondered if he was always such a pushover or if that was the baby causing a personality change.

But Pete seemed to sense the resistance in the way Ryan's body tensed up when he tried to take off the boy's jeans, so he just let it go. For tonight, at least, he didn't want to push anything. He just wanted to go to sleep. He wanted Ryan to sleep in his bed and if he had to stare at the ceiling all night, that's what he would do. Sacrifices.

When Ryan got up to change into pajamas, Pete grabbed his wrist. "Just . . . stay tonight?" he asked, almost a whisper. "I'll stay in bed or . . . yeah, just. Please?"

Ryan nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Yeah. Okay." He didn't add that he'd have to leave if he couldn't sleep. There was no point in saying it and ruining the way Pete's eyes lit up when he agreed. "Let me go change. I'll be right back."

\---

The next day was like nothing had happened. Ryan didn't know if he should be relieved or if he should scream. He did neither. Instead, he settled on something they needed to discuss that Pete would actually do something about. "We have to release a statement or something," the boy said as he pulled a frozen pizza out for lunch. "I mean, we have to say something. Both of us."

"About the pregnancy?"

Ryan winced. He hadn't gotten quite that far. He was hoping, foolishly, that it wouldn't come up. "I just figured it could be vague."

"You don't want to come out. That's it, right?" Pete asked, taking the pizza box and opening it.

"I want to come out on my own terms." he said quickly. Pete was right, but Ryan wouldn't admit it. He had no desire to come out, ever. He didn't want to be a poster child for gay rights, he didn't want to see the negative impact it would have on the band. He didn't want to have to tell people what his sexuality was. He knew the likelihood of staying in the closet forever was next to none, but it didn't have to be today.

Pete sighed, putting the pizza in the oven. "Yeah, all right. What's the rest of your band think?"

"I'm sending them lyrics and they're working on some music, so I think we could just say I'm working on an album. It's been a year and half so . . . it makes sense." Ryan shrugged, then gave a small gasp, his hand flying to his stomach.

Pete dropped the potholder and hurried over, his hands running over the bump as well. "Did it kick? Did the baby kick?"

Ryan blinked hard a few times, his mouth parted slightly. "I-I think so." He looked up at Pete, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. "The doctor said, remember?"

Pete nodded, but he didn't like it. "I know."

"Just a few more weeks, baby." Ryan murmured, shocked by the sudden surge of affection. It wasn't normal for him, but he felt bad. He knew had much Pete wanted this, probably more than him. Pete should have been able to feel it.

"Are you sure you don't want to know if it's a boy or a girl?"

The older hadn't asked in awhile, so Ryan looked slightly shocked at the question, but shook his head. "No, I don't want to know. I still want to be surprised."

"Well, it can really only go one of two ways."

"Don't quote Juno at me, Wentz." Ryan pushed at the older boy, who caught his wrists and leaned in, kissing him on the mouth.

"You're the cheese to my macaroni."

"You're an idiot."

But it was all so _nice_ and Ryan let Pete wrap his arms around him on the couch and lean his head against the younger boy's shoulder while they finished watching the live-action version of _Peter Pan_ they'd started before Ryan's hunger could no longer be ignored.

"It's cool if Patrick comes over later, right?" Pete asked.

"Of course it is," Ryan said softly, smiling, secretly thinking that it would be nice to have Pete's energies focused on someone else for a few hours.

"If you miss Brendon or Spencer or anything you know we can fly them out, right? Or they can drive. Whatever. I'm just saying you can invite them out."

Ryan smiled. "I know. But thank you."

\---

"Hey, you okay?" Patrick asked. Ryan was sitting by the pool, his jeans stripped off and his feet in the water, leaning back on his extended arms. The pregnant boy looked up and smiled, a small smile but a genuine one nonetheless.

"I'm good. How's Pete?"

"He managed to spill nacho cheese all over himself so he's taking a shower." Patrick sat down, legs-crossed, next to the boy. "I just thought I'd ask you how things were going, living with Pete, I mean. It's not easy and you kind of got shoved into it." He chuckled softly and took a drink from the soda can he was holding.

"He's just so fucking _needy_." Ryan admitted, sighing heavily. "Just, all the time. I thought he'd want space, but I guess he gets that when he's not sleeping."

Patrick nodded sympathetically. "He told me you're sleeping in separate rooms." He didn't really wait for an answer before he continued. "You guys are a lot alike, but in different ways. It's hard to explain. I think you'll figure it out though."

Ryan looked at Patrick, really looked at him. He was Pete's best friend, had been for years. He understands Pete. And if he thought Ryan and Pete were alike then maybe he might understand the boy, too. Maybe. He took a deep breath, trying to untangle the words. But instead of saying them, he slipped into the water instead. His shirt stuck to his stomach and he thought he felt the baby flutter, but he could have been mistaken.

Patrick just watched him in silence until the sliding door opened and Pete came out in jeans and no shirt, his chest still wet from his shower and his hair sticking up slightly in the back. It was dark out, the backyard illuminated by the glow of the blue pool lights and Pete looked like some sort of mage with his tattoos and piercing eyes fixed on Ryan's body. "Is chlorine bad for the baby?" he asked in a small voice, like he was embarrassed to even be wondering.

For that reason and that reason alone, Patrick didn't laugh at him. "No, Pete. Hot tubs are."

Ryan turned when he heard the voices and Pete's breathing seemed to hitch in his throat. He looked beautiful in the water, relaxed, his eyes slightly widened when he saw the way Pete was looking at him. "Hi," Ryan choked out, his voice unusually thick.

Patrick bit back his smile, giving Pete a small nod and pushing himself off the concrete, making his way back inside. Ryan didn't know how to react to being alone with his husband and wet up to his chest in the pool. It was obvious in the way he immediately moved toward the edge of the pool, wanting to pull himself out and find a towel. But then there was a splash, chlorinated water droplets landing on Ryan's head, and Pete was in the water.

Ryan turned and Pete was there, reaching his arms out, pulling the boy in close, lips finding each other, tangling together and--for once--Ryan was immediately receptive. It felt right, somehow. Not forced, not rehearsed, not questioning. For the first time, Ryan thought he might actually be able to let himself fall in love with Pete. He couldn't explain why.

It was an ordeal to get Pete out of his wet jeans, one they both laughed at and Ryan didn't feel awkward like he normally would have. He was never the type of person who could laugh at the weird noises during sex or the accidental crash of teeth during a kiss. Ryan did feel awkward in his shirt though, sticking to his belly, when Pete lifted him up slightly in the water, wrapping the boy's legs around his waist and pulling him in for the kiss.

The baby was between them and they could both tell. Ryan wanted to squirm and Pete didn't seem to mind at all, deepening the kiss, letting one of his hands tangle in the boy's chestnut brown hair. "Can we please?" the older asked and Ryan didn't even have to ask what he meant.

"Does it hurt in water?" Ryan asked, mainly concerned because it had been so long combined with no lubricant and knowing how over-eager Pete would be.

"I'll go slow," the older promised. "And we can stop. I just . . ." He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath and Ryan felt bad, so he leaned in and kissed Pete on the mouth.

"We can. Just slow, okay?"

It _did_ hurt. Pete was true to his word, but Ryan couldn't handle it. He wanted to, desperately, and when Pete pulled out the second time, he kissed his husband desperately on the mouth. "Let's just go in. Please? I want to finish." He couldn't believe quite how much he'd missed sex. He'd convinced himself, somehow, that he hadn't, but when he felt it, the skin on skin and breath dancing on his neck . . .

Patrick had left, confirmed by the silence when Pete called out his best friend's name as he and Ryan stumbled inside, wrapped in blankets from the patio furniture. They didn't even make it to the bedroom, just the living room and Ryan wondered why the hell Pete thought it was appropriate to keep lube in the cabinet under the coffee table. The entire house was going to have to be gone over to make sure there was nothing inappropriate a two year old could discover.

But then there were fingers and moans and Ryan forgot all about baby-proofing the living room. Until he started to feel his and Pete's stomach touching too much. "C-Can we . . . umm, on my knees?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He wasn't sure why he couldn't control it, but there were tears threatening to form in the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah." Pete seemed oblivious, pulling out immediately and letting Ryan maneuver to the position, slightly hesitant to offer help lest he make the boy seem like an invalid. Ryan managed perfectly fine however and then Pete knelt up, hands fitting perfectly to the boy's hipbones. He could feel the curve of Ryan's belly against his hands with every thrust. He wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it, but neither of them lasted long enough for the thought to go anywhere else.

"You okay?" Pete asked after, pulling Ryan in to kiss him, run fingers through his hair.

But Ryan seemed to have used up all his desire for human contact by then. He smiled and nodded, but stood up. "I'm gonna take a shower and go to bed. 'Night."

The older man remained on the couch for several minutes, trying to figure out just what exactly had gone wrong before he got up to go fetch their clothes from the pool.

\---

Ryan called Spencer the next day, asked him to bring Brendon with him and come to Pete's. Spencer, of course, tried to figure out why, but Ryan just hung up. Pregnancy was at least good for being able to get away with being rude. He could just blame it on the hormones.

Brendon called about an hour later, excitement evident in his voice. "Can we throw you a baby shower while we're there? My mom and I were talking about them. There's this game you can play with melted candy bars and diapers where--"

"Absolutely not." Ryan interrupted before he had to find out exactly what would happen with the candy bars. "I don't want a baby shower."

"Yeah, you're right. It's too early." Brendon agreed, completely misinterpreting what he'd heard. Ryan didn't bother to correct him. "But how long do you want us to stay?"

"I don't know." Ryan sighed, rolling over onto his back and groaning. Pete was doing something that sounded like a hammer against the wall. He had no idea what and he really wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Like a week."

After Brendon got off the phone and the pounding didn't cease, Ryan finally rolled out of bed to go see what was going on. Not so much because he was interested, but because he was interested in making the noise stop. Pete was in one of the guest bedrooms and there _was_ a hammer in his hand, a few nails sticking out of his mouth.

"You're loud." Ryan observed, leaning against the doorframe. "What are you doing?"

Pete turned, pulling the nails out of his mouth. "You were up so, I didn't think it would bother you." But he looked slightly apologetic at least. "I'm hanging up some pictures."

Ryan glanced around the walls. There was a print of some strange painting of what he assumed was a teddy bear, though it looked like it might have stepped out of a Tim Burton movie. A candid of Fall Out Boy and another of Panic. And, finally, the picture Pete hung while Ryan was looking: a picture of them pair of them at the chapel that Spencer had taken with his mom's digital camera.

"Spin never sent me those pictures." Ryan said finally, stepping into the room and pulling the frame off the wall, examining the image. He actually looked happy in the picture, if a bit reserved, a bit uncertain. But he was squeezing both of Pete's hands in his while they exchanged vows.

"I bugged him until he finally sent them to my email. You never asked so . . ."

Ryan bit his lip and hung the frame back up. "Can I . . . Can I be honest for a minute?" His voice was small, soft, worried, shaking. He wouldn't look at Pete.

"You can always be honest with me," the older said, reaching out and tentatively touching Ryan's arm, squeezing it before pulling away.

The boy took a deep breath and moved to the bed in the room, sitting down and putting his hands in his lap, twisting his fingers. "I'm still not sure getting married was the right thing to do." Pete didn't say anything, just sat down next to his husband, reaching out and putting one of his hands on top of Ryan's. The younger boy leaned his head on Pete's shoulder. "I want it to be the right thing though," he added in almost a whisper. "That counts for something, right?"

"I think that counts for everything, Ry." Pete murmured. He kissed the top of the boy's head. "You're not the only one who worries, you know? I do, too."

They sat there like that, silently, comfortably, until Pete's cell phone buzzed in his pocket and the moment was broken. But Ryan felt better and not quite so alone.

\---

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Ryan said while Pete was deciding what to order for lunch. "I called Spence and asked him and Brendon to come out for like a week."

"Yeah, I know." Pete grinned. "Bren called me and tried to get me to beg you to let him throw a baby shower. I told him it was pretty short notice to get everyone out here." He didn't seem to mind at all, that Ryan hadn't asked first. In fact, he was surprised it hadn't taken longer. It had been about three months since Ryan had seen any of his bandmates.

Ryan shook his head, no smile on his face, sighing. "I don't want a baby shower."

"Well, it's a little soon."

"I don't want everyone to see me when I'm fat and . . . waddling. Like a fucking duck." Ryan grimaced. "I don't even want you to see me like that."

Pete gave him a small smile. "We don't have to have one. But just . . . wait. Maybe you'll change your mind. And you're a pretty duck, Ry."

"You're a pretty duck," Ryan muttered, but his heart wasn't in it.

\---

"I brought you insoles for your shoes!" Those were the first words Ryan heard from Brendon's mouth when he entered the house. "My mom says they're good for your feet when you get bigger." He was so gleeful and his smile was so big that Ryan couldn't even get offended by the second statement. He just laughed and pulled the boy in for a hug, one that Pete watched silently. Then Ryan hugged Spencer, tighter than he'd hugged Brendon, smiling inwardly when he felt the baby flutter.

"I'm so glad you guys are here."

Pete bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep it all inside, trying to ignore the fact that this was the happiest he'd seen Ryan in at least a month, including when he had his last sonogram.

"Pete!" Brendon was excited in general, it seemed, tripping over the bag he dropped on the ground to pounce on the older man, hugging him and grinning. "Hi."

That smile was infectious, even if the one Pete returned only matched it about halfway. "Hey. Was your drive okay?"

Spencer and Ryan were talking quietly in half sentences, the way best friends could, that hidden language no one else seemed to understand, almost like twins. Spencer's mom said that the boys used to share nightmares when they were in elementary school.

"Drive was great. Pretty easy traffic." Spencer said, interrupting the conversation. "Thanks for letting us crash."

Pete shrugged. "No need to thank me. Ryan's house, too."

The boy actually gave a small smile at that, letting his hand rest on his stomach for a moment. Spencer had no real way of knowing that was a rather unusual occurrence, but somehow he seemed to know all the same. "Try a little harder," he whispered in Ryan's ear before crossing the room to give Pete a one-armed hug. "So you guys setting up a nursery yet, or what?"

"Not yet." Pete said. "We'll do sleeping stuff later though." He only realized at that moment that he and Ryan hadn't discussed it and there were only two guest rooms, one of which was the room Ryan was currently sleeping in.

"I'm starving," Ryan announced to the room at large. "So someone needs to feed me."

"And the baby!" Brendon added in his not-so-dulcet tones.

Pete winced. He knew the boy hated comments like that. _'I don't need to be reminded,' the boy would say, 'I'm fully aware.'_ But Brendon could get away with those comments apparently because Ryan bit back anything he wanted to say. Pete wasn't sure how he felt about that.

But he bit his own words back just like Ryan and suggested ordering pizzas, an idea that Brendon pounced on.

\---

"How come you sent Pete the pictures but you didn't send them to me?" Ryan asked. They were in the room Pete had been hanging pictures in earlier, the one Spencer was staying in that would later be turned into the nursery. He and Pete had decided in hushed tones that Ryan would attempt to stay in the master bedroom, but would share with Spencer if it didn't work. Brendon wanted Ryan's room because it had a bathtub.

"You never asked me," Spencer replied, now pulling the pictures up on his laptop to show his best friend. "I didn't know if you wanted them."

"It's my wedding, isn't it?"

"I didn't know if you wanted that either."

Ryan didn't say anything, just pulled the laptop closer to him and started skimming through the photographs. A lot of them were the same thing, just taken a few seconds apart. Ryan couldn't find himself looking like a person who was through the roof happy with the situation, but he didn't look upset in any of them either. Toward the end of the night it was obvious he was getting a little strained, but his smile was still on. Pete looked over the moon, in contrast.

"This one's my favorite." Ryan said, eventually, pointing out a photograph where he and Pete were holding out their hands to show the rings the older had picked out that day. Ryan's long, too-skinny arm looked so strange next to his counterpart's inked one, but there was something sort of beautiful about it, too.

"That's a good one." Spencer agreed. "I like the one where Brendon threw rice in your hair and you gave him the death glare, personally."

Ryan shifted, reaching for the glass of orange juice he'd set on the nightstand. "Husband's a weird word."

"Especially when you're twenty."

"You'd tell me if you thought I was making a mistake, wouldn't you, Spin?" Ryan turned his eyes to his best friend, softly accusing him.

The younger boy hesitated, crossing and uncrossing his legs, closing the window on the computer, biting his bottom lip. "I don't think it's a _mistake_ , necessarily. If anyone can make it work, y'know, it's you and Pete. It was just . . . quick. I mean, you told me two days before you were pregnant and then you call me and tell me to pick up Brendon because you need witnesses to your wedding."

"He was so happy. He cried when he asked, like tears in his eyes and shit." Ryan laughed, almost cynically. "We don't even sleep in the same room."

"Not all couples do."

"I don't know where the soup goes."

"Buy a labelmaker."

Ryan sighed, putting his glass back down and leaning his head on Spencer's shoulder, so thankful for some things not changing. He heard Brendon's voice ringing from down the hallway and laughed outright.

"Dude, I will so school your ass in Mario Kart."

"Bring it, Urie." Pete replied.

Spencer laughed, too. "Too bad those two didn't get married, huh?" It was a joke, but it reminded Ryan of what Patrick had said the week before by the pool.

"Do you think me and Pete are alike at all?" he asked, not lifting his head, but turning his eyes to Spence. It almost looked romantic, but wasn't in the slightest.

"Yeah, you are." Spencer nodded, opening up his email. "You're both writers and not talkers. You like to use metaphors and you don't like to say what's up. You're both really weird, too."

Ryan sat up then, laughing and pushing at his best friend. "Gee, thanks, asshole." But he filed those statements away in his brain silently, to dissect later when he had a few minutes to himself and a pen in his hand.

\---

"You really missed them, huh?" Pete asked in bed that night. Ryan was tired, but he wanted to finish watching the end of the cop show they'd put on for background noise and he'd ended up getting thoroughly involved in. It was a commercial though, so it was okay to speak.

Ryan shifted against the pillow he was leaning against, turning his head to look at the boy next to him. He nodded. "Yeah. It's . . . it's different being away from them. I've never been away from Spin longer than two weeks, really."

"We could get an apartment in Vegas."

The boy shook his head. "No. I don't . . . I just. I want to try." Ryan turned back to the television. "It's hard, but I don't think being around them all the time is going to help me get used to this."

Pete reached out, the back of his hand gently stroking the side of Ryan's face. "I know you don't want me to say this, but I love you." He watched the younger boy close in on himself slightly, shoulders tensing up, teeth clenching. "I don't want to think I expect you to say it back. I can be patient when I have to." He nodded, leaning in and kissing Ryan softly on the corner of his mouth. "I just want you to know that. I'll give you everything I can, Ry. I just want to help."

There was a quick nod and perhaps the amber eyes blinked one too many times, but Pete didn't comment. He understood and he went back to looking at cribs online while Ryan waited for the commercial break to end. That night Pete actually slept, his fingers splayed across Ryan's stomach.


	2. Shutter Speed

When Pete got the phone call, his immediate thought was a loud, resounding _fuck_ that echoed around in his head. Ryan was still sleeping, he assumed, as it was only half past seven. He scrambled to pull his laptop off the nightstand, almost dropping it in his haste, the phone still pressed to his ear, Patrick's voice spitting out words that all seemed to tumble together.

And there it was, right on the front page. Pete blinked twice, trying to make sure it wasn't all a dream. "Ryan's going to kill me," was all he could really think to say. "I have to go tell him."

"Call me later." Patrick's voice was adamant. "We need to release a statement. So does Panic."

Pete nodded, forgetting that he was on the phone and needed to speak, ending the call without a real good-bye and pushing his laptop over to the other side of the bed, standing up and running a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. He had no idea how to fix this situation.

\---

Ryan rolled over and went right back to sleep the first time Pete tried to wake him. It took a good twenty minutes of prodding and several curse words before the boy would consent to get up and he didn't even want to talk until he'd gone to the bathroom and gotten something to eat. An hour later he was finally ready to listen, sitting on the couch in the living room, a blueberry waffle in his hand.

Pete didn't know what to say. He had half a mind to just go get his laptop, but he thought that might be too scary. It had scared the hell out of him and Ryan was in a much more fragile state. Not to mention the reaction Ryan had a few weeks before when they'd just been discussing such a thing. What if Ryan thought Pete had done it?

"Look, if you don't tell me what this big, important news is, I'm going back to bed." The boy yawned, taking a bite of his waffle and shooting Hemingway a dirty look when the dog licked his lips.

"Patrick called me an hour ago," Pete started. "Someone . . . did some digging, I guess." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mentally bracing himself. "Found our marriage license."

The waffle fell out of Ryan's hand as he felt all the blood drain from his face. The baby was moving too quickly in response, forcing him to put a hand on his stomach, hoping somehow that it would calm the movements down. Hemingway had already darted forward to grab the fallen food and Pete sat down on the couch, grabbing Ryan's other hand with his. "I don't know how this happened. We're not . . . those kinds of celebrities. I didn't think . . . anyone would care enough to . . ."

The tears were slowly beginning to form and Ryan didn't even have the strength to try and blink them away. "Do they know? About the baby?" he whispered.

Pete hesitated before nodding. "It's huge, Ry. It's on the front page of Yahoo and apparently management is getting calls from everyone. It's not just LiveJournal kids and MySpace. I need to call Patrick back in a bit so we can work out a statement and you should probably call your band, too."

"I'm not doing a press conference if that's what you're suggesting."

Pete leaned in, kissing Ryan's temple. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Someone else can read the statement. But you should make one."

The tears were sliding down Ryan's cheeks now, hot and salty. "I didn't want this. It's not fair. Why do they get to put us under microscopes like fucking _insects_?" He kicked his foot out and it connected with the coffee table, which just caused him to cry harder, putting his face in his hands. He didn't care at the moment that Pete was seeing him break down, that he was sobbing like a child, that his foot stung like a bitch.

Pete didn't know what to do. He felt like he was intruding, like he was seeing something he shouldn't. Ryan like a broken rag doll, folded up on himself, crying. All he wanted to do was help, but he had no idea how. "I'm sorry," he whispered finally. "I never wanted anything like this to happen. I'm sorry it had to happen like this."

Ryan didn't answer, but he made the smallest movement toward Pete on the couch. So he remained there, letting his mind start to form thoughts about what his statement would say, but trying not to zone out too much in case he missed something Ryan said.

"I'm going to call Spencer." Pete glanced at the time on the cable receiver. It had been almost thirty minutes. He hadn't even noticed Ryan's tears slowing, but his cheeks were dry now. "I just . . . I need a bit, okay?" Ryan leaned in slowly, kissing Pete softly on the mouth. "Call Patrick or whatever you need to do."

The older boy watched Ryan walk from the room, silent, biting the inside of his cheek before shaking his head and reaching into his pocket for his phone.

\---

"Shit." Ryan could hear Spencer in the background of the phone call, tripping over things in his room and then fingers racing over a computer keyboard. "Holy fuck."

And then Ryan could hear Ginger Smith in the background, voice indistinct, but he knew she was telling her son off for swearing because then Spencer was telling her to look and Ryan thought someone may have dropped the phone, but then Mrs. Smith's voice was in his ear.

"Ryan? Ryan, sweetie, are you okay? I can't believe those vultures would print this about you."

Ryan swallowed nervously. He really had no desire to have this conversation. "I, uh . . . yeah, I'm . . ."

"Mom, give me back the phone!" There was another shuffling noise and then Spencer's voice sounded normal again. "Sorry, about that. Jeez, Mom. A little privacy, _please_? I am nineteen, you know."

Ryan laughed, but it sounded choked, and his laughter was promptly followed by a hiccup. "Pete wants us to put a statement together." He was met with silence and after a few seconds, he started to get annoyed because it was easier than getting concerned. "Earth to Spin?"

"We're the number five album on iTunes." Spencer said, voice low. "And all of Fall Out Boy's albums are up there, too."

The boy blinked, letting that register. "But . . . our album's two years old." While Ryan was trying to ponder why on earth his pregnancy and marriage would lead to such a thing, Spencer was opening up a word document and when he spoke again, his voice had that business tone to it.

"Okay, so, press statement. I guess we should do one as a band and you should probably have an individual one since you're the one with child." Ryan snorted. "So I guess Brendon and Jon and I'll be all 'blah blah blah, best congratulations to Pete and Ryan at this time in their lives. We thank you for your support and ask that you respect their privacy during this personal time. Do you think it's necessary to point out that you never fucked Brendon?"

"Probably, but don't." Ryan shook his head. Damn fanfiction and horny teenage girls. And damn crazy friends for sending him links to the stuff. "What should I say, Spin?"

The boy was already working on it though. "I appreciate all your kind thoughts, but respectfully request that you allow me and Pete our privacy during this time. Any information that I wish to share will be given through the appropriate channels. I am an extremely private person and do not like to disclose the details of my personal life which is why I did not release a statement before."

"Any information _we_ wish to share." Ryan murmured in a low voice. "And now I want you to lie for me."

Spencer hesitated. "Lie for you?"

Ryan continued. "Put in there that Pete and I have been seeing each other for over a year." He could hear the keystrokes.

"It's not exactly a lie, you know, putting it that way. You _were_ seeing each other. You were just seeing other people, too." Spencer was trying to help. He didn't really know what help he could be considering how totally screwed up the situation was. Ryan had made it very clear the day they signed their contracts that he had zero desire to ever come out of the closet and now his marriage license and the fact that he was pregnant were up on the internet. It was certainly not the way Spencer had ever imagined the band would launch into the mainstream.

"It feels like a lie." Ryan mumbled, reaching his hand around to rub at the small of his back.

"Do you want to include anything for, like . . . you know, the gay community? Or guys that are hormone-positive or--"

"No." There was no room for argument in that tone. "This is bad enough, Christ. I don't want to be some fucking poster boy."

The younger boy made a few more keystrokes and Ryan was getting ready to open his mouth to snap again, but Spencer spoke first. "And how far along are you again? Five months now, right?"

Ryan tried to swallow the edge from his voice before he spoke. "Almost six. Just had a sonogram yesterday."

"Everything's good, right? You know if it's a boy or a girl yet?" The boy was trying to change things, make it seem normal. And, truthfully, he _was_ curious. Ryan didn't really talk to him about the baby much.

"Email me that when you're done and I'll give it to Pete. Bye, Spin." Ryan hung up the phone and burst into tears all over again, dropping his phone on the bed and fisting both hands in his hair. This was not the way anything was supposed to go and the bump under his shirt was not helping him to forget, even for a moment, just how shitty everything was.

\---

Pete didn't really smoke, but he had a pack of cigarettes stashed in the back of the freezer for situations such as these, when he didn't trust how many Xanax pills would end up in his hand. So now he was outside, out of view of the doors and windows, sucking on a Marlboro that burnt the back of his throat, most likely owing to the fact that it was probably six months old.

He could have cared less if it had just been about him. He'd dealt with that before. But Ryan was fortunate enough to not be such a desired piece of meat, with so few skeletons in his closet and the fact that he could close himself off so well from what people wanted (and what he was willing to give). Now both of them were going to be forced headfirst into the world of photographers and tabloid stories, if the phone calls from management were any indication.

"Must have been fucking crazy to think we could have a quiet pregnancy." Pete muttered, kicking out savagely at an object that wasn't there to take his anger.

"You shouldn't smoke," came Patrick's voice before the boy himself came into view. "I heard pregnant people get heightened senses, like dogs."

Pete grit his teeth, staring down the length of the cigarette before taking another drag. "Ryan probably wouldn't even care," he spat out bitterly. "It's not like I'm Brendon or Spencer or someone he actually gives a damn about."

Patrick was unamused by the pity party, as he always tended to be, striding forward and pulling the cigarette from Pete's hand, snapping it in two and putting it out under his shoe. "Ryan's here," he said curtly. "He's here instead of Vegas. He's wearing your ring and he changed his name, _for you_. He probably wanted an abortion, but he's having the kid _for you_."

Pete's bottom lip trembled and he looked awkward now, with nothing for his fingers to do. "He thinks marrying me was a mistake."

"Maybe it was." But there was no edge to Patrick's voice now. "A lot of good things can grow from mistakes though." He moved forward, pulling the other boy into a hug. "Ryan really wants to be happy with you and that counts for a lot. We can't all fall in love as easy as you, Pete."

Pete's arms came up, squeezing Patrick so tightly they both feared for his ribs. "We slept okay the week they were here, but then he went back to sleeping in the guest room."

"The way he acts when he's pregnant is probably different than how he'll act after, you know. Now, please let go, because I think you really are going to break a bone."

They both laughed, though Pete's was sort of choked as he brought a hand up to wipe at the corners of his eyes, where moisture was threatening to fall. "I guess we should go figure out this press release, huh?"

"At least you two don't have a sex tape," Patrick pointed out brightly.

"Not for lack of trying," Pete mumbled as they made their way back inside. His best friend didn't even bother to comment.

Ryan came out of his room about fifteen minutes later, looking a lot better than either Patrick or Pete would have expected. He still looked upset and visibly shaken, but there were no tears or tearstains on his cheeks and he'd gotten dressed and brushed his hair, which probably didn't hurt. He had a piece of paper in his hand that he handed to Pete when he sat down next to him on the couch, practically curling up into his side. "Spencer sent me a press statement for the band and one for me."

Pete's hand went to Ryan's thigh, squeezing it, surprised at the sudden surge of affection, but unwilling to say anything that could destroy it.

"You two should probably do one as a couple, too." Patrick said, not looking up from the laptop where he was looking over an email management had sent him regarding the situation they were discussing. "And maybe release one of the pictures from Vegas."

Pete could tell by the way body's Ryan tensed up that he wasn't too keen on that idea. "Why do we need to give them a picture?"

"To shut them up." Patrick turned his computer toward Pete so the bassist could read the statement management had drafted for them. "I mean, it won't quiet them forever, but it's a bone. And, honestly, thank God you're from Vegas. They're already having a field day that you got married there, but at least it's a built-in excuse."

"It wasn't an excuse." Ryan said in a low voice and Pete turned to look at him, slightly concerned.

Patrick nodded. "I know it wasn't, but other people will think it is."

"Other people can fuck off."

Pete moved his hand from Ryan's thigh to his neck, letting his fingertips stroke across the delicate skin there. "They always say whatever they want to, Ry. You know that."

"They're all going to think me and Bren were fucking too, aren't they?"

"And me and Pete." Patrick fought back the laughter. "Yeah. But that's really nothing new, is it?" He stood up, picking up his glass from the table and wandering out to the kitchen to refill it.

" _Did_ you and Brendon . . ." When Pete's voice trailed off, Ryan turned his head and bit his husband's arm in response.

\---

Surprisingly enough, it had turned out to be a pretty good day considering. A _really_ good day, actually. Ryan had laughed a lot and kissed Pete more than he probably had all month. The only time he ever seemed to close off was when the suggestion got thrown out that doing an interview about the situation might not be a bad idea, but when the subject was changed he launched himself right back into the conversation, and his hands touched his belly more than they normally did.

Which was probably what gave Pete the courage to bring up the subject. "Did you sleep okay when Spencer and Brendon were here?" They were in the kitchen. Ryan was making peanut butter toast while Pete loaded the dishwasher.

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, I did. Thanks, by the way." The toast popped up and he reached for the butter knife.

"No, I." Pete frowned. "That's not what I meant." The boy's back was to him so he couldn't see the frown. "I just wondered why you went back to the other room then."

Ryan didn't answer immediately, just finished spreading the peanut butter and took a few bites of his snack before putting the lid back on the jar. "That's, like, your time to yourself. I don't mind."

"I can make a different time for myself," Pete said softly. "I . . . I liked having you there."

Ryan turned, smiling slightly. There was some peanut butter on his top lip and Pete thought he looked absolutely beautiful. "Yeah?" There might have been a slight blush on his cheeks, but there might not have been. Pete couldn't tell. "Well, I can, if you want." He held out the butter knife for Pete to put in the dishwasher. "Just, you know, don't not tell me if you want me to sleep in the other room. I won't get mad."

Pete doubted the validity of the statement. Not that he didn't think Ryan meant it, but the hormones could make him mad if he brought it up a month or so down the road. But he had no desire to get into that discussion, so he just nodded. "I'll tell you."

He watched Ryan for a moment longer and then decided he couldn't resist. He took the few steps to close the space between them. "You have some peanut butter . . . here." And then he leaned in, kissing it off, smiling when he felt Ryan's lips respond to his and then . . .

"Holy shit." Pete jumped back, eyes wide, staring at Ryan's stomach. "I-I felt it." His mouth was open in shock and then his lips quickly turned upward, a beautiful smile lighting up his entire face. "I felt it." His hand went to Ryan's stomach, and his grin got even larger. "I can feel him."

What he said didn't even register for a moment, he was too enthralled with feeling the movements under his hand, like someone was bumping his palm.

"Him?" Ryan asked, voice sounding slightly choked.

Pete's hands fell, and his face, too. "Oh my God. Oh my God, I'm sorry. I didn't . . . I didn't mean to . . . _Fuck!"_ His hands went to his hair, pulling at it with fists. He'd been doing so well. Not letting Ryan find the list of baby names, or showing him anything blue when he brought up colors for the nursery. He was horrible with secrets and this just seemed to prove the point.

Ryan reached up, his hands closing around Pete's wrists, voice soft. "It's okay." The older boy's eyes opened to look at him, clearly pained. "It's okay, Pete," he repeated, gently pulling his hands down. "I'm not mad." He put Pete's hands back on his stomach. "Him," Ryan murmured, an emotion the other boy couldn't place in his voice. "We're having a boy?" he asked, like he needed to be sure.

Pete nodded uncertainly. "Yeah."

"A boy," Ryan said again, this time a smile on his face, teeth showing. "A boy."

\---

That night Ryan finally looked at all the baby furniture and things Pete had bookmarked on his computer. "No circus themes," the boy insisted. "No Tim Burton. No ridiculous yellow color palette."

"How'd you know I wanted a Nightmare Before Christmas theme?"

Ryan smiled. "Well, I am your husband."

Pete seemed content with that answer even though it meant he was going to have to completely redesign his dream nursery. His hand let go of the pen he'd been holding to stroke at the hair feathered along the back of Ryan's neck. "I can't believe how well you're handling the press."

The boy swallowed, tongue darting out to lick at his lips, which seemed to suddenly feel dry. He'd been thinking the same thing all day. After the initial shock, the phone call to Spencer, the twenty minutes of crying alone in the bedroom . . . he'd realized how much he _didn't_ seem to care. "It might sink in later." Ryan's voice was quiet, but not a whisper, though it did sound almost strained. "But I just . . . it's one less thing." He turned to look at Pete, tears standing in his amber eyes. "I didn't _want_ it to happen, but I can't fix it. That's never happened to me before. Not like this. I have _no_ options, just how I handle it."

Pete leaned in closer. "Don't cry, babe. It's going to be fine." Their lips met, soft at first, tender like the first snowflakes of winter kissing blades of grass. Then deeper, more hunger evident as Ryan pushed the laptop to the side and Pete's other hand squeezed the boy's thigh, hard enough to force a low moan out of Ryan's throat.

This time they had sex while spooning and it seemed to dawn on Pete that Ryan was purposely avoiding any position that pressed his belly against Pete's. It hadn't really bothered Pete before--the position--but now that he could feel the baby kick, he appreciated it somewhat, even if he couldn't see Ryan's face. He wondered if the baby kicked Ryan when they had sex, but decided not to ask because if it was an affirmative answer, he didn't want the boy to feel any more strange about it than he probably already did.

Ryan was asleep about ten minutes after they finished, one hand on his stomach and the other tossed haphazardly over his head. Pete quietly stole his computer back to purchase the crib they'd decided on.

\---

Ryan's newfound comfort with the situation only lasted about a week. More specifically, until the morning of his next doctor's visit. After they pulled out of the driveway, flashbulbs immediately started going off even though Pete was fairly sure they couldn't see _into_ the car with the darkness of the tinted windows. But Ryan had immediately tensed up, turning away from the glass, his face shielded by his hands.

"They knew where we live?" he asked in a choked whisper.

Pete didn't know what to say. He'd known about the camp out for a few days, since he'd gone to the story for peanut butter cups and dog food, but he hadn't wanted to say anything. In retrospect, that may have been a bad idea. "I'm sorry." It was the only thing he could think to say, lifting one hand off the wheel to rub at Ryan's shoulder. "It should die down in a few days."

"Bullshit," Ryan snapped, his hands coming away from his face. "Don't you lie to me just to make me feel better. It doesn't work. I'm not fucking five, you know."

So Pete put his hand back on the wheel and didn't say anything else until they got to the hospital. Even he wasn't expecting photographers outside of the entrance there. I mean, it probably hadn't been hard to figure out what hospital they were going to, but _really_? Weren't there laws against camping outside a hospital? They were on the sidewalk, but even so.

Ryan was fighting tears as Pete parked the car. "I can't," he whispered. "I can't, please. There has to be a back entrance. Or just . . . go talk to them. I'm not . . . I _won't_ , Pete." His words were so bitter, but there was no real bite to them, just the hurt. "I'm not turning the baby into a fucking freak show."

It was worse than not being able to leave the house for appointments. Now if Ryan left he was going to end up on the cover of some tabloid or splashed across some website, stupid words about what he was drinking and speculations if he was ever photographed without Pete. They'd zoom in on his stomach and probably wonder if Pete was really the father.

Pete was resourceful if he was anything and he parked by another building, letting Ryan off _right_ next to the door and parking the car, then walking up alone. All the buildings were technically connected, so it was a further walk, but there were no flashbulbs. Pete was sure the photographers would figure it out before the appointment was finished, but he was hoping to have another solution already figured out by then.

The nurse gave Ryan another lecture about wearing his jeans too tight and both boys rolled their eyes. "We're six months in now?" she confirmed after she finished her lecture. When Ryan nodded, she made a note on her clipboard. "We're going to give you the BBD today then. You don't need to wear the bracelet at all times, but you should always have it with you and it needs to be charged every day."

Ryan nodded again. He remember them talking about the baby-monitoring device in high school sex ed, how it started flashing a red light and beeping like crazy when you went into labor, and how they put the patches on your stomach and they had to be replaced every time you came in. Contractions for men felt a lot different than they did for women, or so everyone said.

"I'm not wearing that thing, period," Ryan whispered to Pete when they set the bracelet down on the computer. It was thick and white and clunky. "It looks like something Judy Jetson would give to Goodwill."

Pete laughed, kissing the top of Ryan's head. "You're so gay."

"Shut up."

\---

Pete's bright idea to sneak Ryan out of the emergency room exit did not work. There weren't as many photographers when they stepped outside, almost like they'd all broken into groups and staked out each individual door, crossing fingers that the pair would walk through theirs.

The cameras started going off immediately, people shouting, asking them questions. Ryan immediately latched onto Pete's arms, ducking his head down.

_"Are you guys expecting a boy or a girl?"_

_"Do you have any names picked out?"_

_"How's the married life treating you?"_

Pete's middle finger went up, almost of its own accord. And he knew it was a mistake, that it was not the photo op they wanted, but he didn't really care at that moment. Ryan was squeezing Pete's arm so tightly the older feared the circulation might be getting cut off. "It's okay," he whispered. "It's okay, Ry." The walk to the car seemed to last a lifetime and there were tears on Ryan's cheeks as they climbed in and buckled.

"Let's just go home."

Pete sighed. "Do you want to grab something to eat, maybe?"

Ryan kicked at the floor. "I said I wanted to go home, so just drive, okay? God, I don't want a picture of me in the McDonalds' drive-thru all over fucking LiveJournal tomorrow." He burst into tears and Pete couldn't tell if it was hormones or stress or both, so he just put the keys in the ignition and went.

As soon as they got back, Ryan disappeared into 'his' room and Pete could hear muffled words from where he was standing at the end of the hall. Ryan had called Spencer. Ryan wouldn't talk to Pete. Pete needed another cigarette.

He was in the backyard, in the same corner of the yard, on his second cigarette and so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the door slide open. "I didn't know you smoked." Ryan was a distance away, unwilling to come any closer because of the bump under his shirt.

Pete, of course, freaked, choking on the drag he'd just taken and stomping the cigarette out immediately as if that would erase the memory of it from Ryan's mind. When he looked up though, as any reasonable person could have guessed, Ryan was still standing there, arms crossed and resting on top of his belly. "I don't . . . really smoke," he said lamely. "Just sometimes. When I'm really stressed."

"You could have told me. I wouldn't have been mad."

"Patrick's the only one who knows." Pete shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets, embarrassed, not certain where to go after the admission. Ryan really didn't seem mad, though, which he took to be a good sign. He looked up, watching the boy who was staring at him curiously, and for reasons he couldn't quite explain, the question just came bubbling up and out of his lips. "Why don't you talk to me, Ry?" His eyes fell back to the ground.

"I'm talking to you right now." Ryan turned and walked, but just to the patio table, sitting down in one of the chairs.

Pete took the seat across from him. "You don't want to talk to me about anything important. This was the first week you actually wanted to talk about the baby, even. You just call Spencer." The hurt was evident in his voice, but Ryan didn't apologize, just shifted his glance toward the pool.

"This week was the first time I was a little excited about the baby," he whispered. Ryan shifted awkwardly. "I don't want to . . . tell you everything you don't want to know about me."

Pete leaned forward, putting his hand on Ryan's leg. "But you don't even know if I want to know. You just assume I don't."

The boy didn't answer, just sighed and leaned back in the chair. But he didn't pull his hand away and they sat there until Pete heard Patrick's voice calling his name from inside the house about half an hour later.

\---

Patrick was nice enough to pick up some groceries that were sitting on the counter waiting to be put away. He was saying something to Pete in a low voice when Ryan walked into the kitchen. "If it's about the pictures, I already know. I was there."

"No, it's about me." Pete said, reaching into the bag nearest him and pulling out a jar of peanut butter.

"I stole your grocery list when I was here earlier," Patrick informed him, looking at Ryan. "How you doin'?"

The boy shrugged, his mind still on the photographs he'd seen online earlier. "Don't they have anything better to do?"

"No." Patrick fumbled around in another bag and produced a candy bar that he slid across the counter to Ryan. "They don't." He patted Pete on the shoulder. "Tell him." His voice was loud enough to carry, but soft enough to feign that it was an accident. Then he left.

Ryan's amber eyes were fixed on Pete, who swore under his breath and put the peanut butter jar back on the counter. He sighed. "It's nothing bad," he said. "My family wants to come out for a week. They've been bugging me ever since this happened."

Ryan peeled the wrapper off the Milky Way that Patrick had bought him and took a bite. "Yeah, they probably want to see you."

"They want to meet my husband." The correction was in a soft voice and Pete walked around the counter to where Ryan was sitting on the stool, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth and gently stroke his cheek. "They're your family now, too."

It was a heavy sort of sentence and they both knew why, but Ryan didn't seem to mind the heaviness, bringing his fingers up to graze against the back of Pete's hand. "They'll like me, right?"

Pete kissed him again. "They'll love you."

They put the groceries away together and Ryan tried not to sound upset when he had to ask where something went. Pete put a frozen lasagna in the oven and then they put a movie in the DVD player. Ryan left about twenty minutes into the film to take a phone call from Brendon. Pete ended up watching the rest of it by himself.

\---

Ryan called Spencer as soon as he answered Brendon's question about what color of shirt to wear with green pants. "Pete's family is coming out to visit." He didn't even bother to say hi before he blurted it out.

Spencer laughed, then wished he could take it back. "Sorry. You just . . . sorry." Haley was sitting next to him on the couch and he kissed her cheek. 'Ryan,' he mouthed and she nodded, wordlessly excusing him. "His parents are coming to visit?"

"Brother and sister, too, I think," Ryan muttered. "He said they're 'my family' now."

"Oh." Spencer winced. This was going to be a long phone call more likely than not, which was not what he'd anticipated when he'd poured his girlfriend four glasses of wine and agreed to watch a chick flick. "Look, he's not . . . he's not saying they _have_ to be. Nobody can be that unless you want them to, Ry." The boy opened the back door and stepped outside. "Does this have anything to do with the pictures today?"

"I don't know." Ryan kicked the trash can next to the bed lightly. "Probably. Maybe. They were . . . I just wasn't . . . they were outside the God damn house, Spin. They know our address."

Spencer sighed heavily. "That's not Pete's fault."

"I never said it was!" Ryan protested loudly.

"Not out loud," the boy agreed. "But you're thinking it. You're blaming him. It's why you're upset about him saying his family is yours. You don't give a fuck that he said that. You just want to blame someone for the photographers and he's convenient."

Ryan's head was spinning. He hadn't imagined the conversation going this way at all. Spencer was supposed to agree with him. And he wasn't . . . he knew it wasn't Pete's fault. He knew better. It wasn't like Pete gave his address to blood-thirsty paparazzi. "Are you drunk?" Ryan whispered.

"No," Spencer said with an edge to his voice, pretty sure it wasn't a lie. He'd only had half as much to drink as Haley. "But I'm a little busy," he added pointedly, his words laced with a slightly heat. "My girlfriend's only here for a week and I'm not your _husband_. Maybe you should be talking to him." The words tasted bitter as soon as he'd said them; he wasn't used to getting angry with Ryan.

The line went dead and Ryan threw the phone behind him on the bed, trying to fight the salty tears that were forcing their way down his cheeks. Was he so wrong to want to talk to his best friend?

\---

When the lasagna was finished, Pete went to get Ryan, knocking on the door before opening it. The boy was on his laptop and Pete could see pictures that looked like the pair of them leaving the doctor's office. "Food's ready, babe."

Ryan looked up, his eyes suddenly wet and beckoned Pete over with his awkwardly long fingers. And then after Pete sat, Ryan took the older boy's hands in his own, kissing the knuckles all over. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I really want your family." He didn't say the rest of it, couldn't bring himself to think it for longer than a second. (He wasn't blaming Pete for the photographers, he wasn't. He was sure of it.)

"I know it's hard for you. I just want you to tell me when it is." Pete's voice was so soft, so gentle. "I want to help." He sounded so young at that moment, so innocent, like a child following his mother around, asking to get the eggs while she made cookies, wanting to hand her the dishes to dry. "I want to take care of you when you need it."

"Hate being taken care of," Ryan whispered.

Pete leaned in, lips softly brushing the boy's neck. "Sometimes you need it, though."

Ryan's hands shifted, now tightly squeezing Pete's wrists. It was such a simple movement, but Pete felt it, the need and the desire. There was a tenseness to Ryan's body like he was trying to hold it in, keep it from flying out of him. Pete's teeth slid across the boy's skin and the slight moan finally tumbled from the parted lips.

"W-We shouldn't." Ryan's voice was a whisper. "We should talk."

"Okay." Pete's lips never left Ryan's neck, planting a kiss to the skin after each word. "What . . . do you . . . want . . . to talk . . . about?"

"I don't know." A dry sob tore it's way out of the boy's throat and Pete sat back immediately, eyes wide and concerned.

"Ry?"

The boy shook his head, bring his hand up to wipe at tears that weren't there and sniffling loudly. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I just . . . I'm not in the mood, I guess. I'm sorry."

Pete didn't look like he was buying it, but he let Ryan push himself off the bed. He sighed, resigning himself to spending the next twenty minutes in the bathroom while Ryan called Spencer to talk about something, _again_. He was trying so hard to be understanding, while Ryan didn't seem to be trying at all.

Pete was jolted out of his thoughts when he heard Ryan's fingers snap. "Are you coming?" the boy asked. He was holding his hand out and Pete tried to swallow his guilt as he took it. "I really want popcorn," Ryan said as they made their way to the kitchen.

\---

Ryan was still sleeping in the master bedroom two weeks later when Pete's family was scheduled to come out. He'd moved his stuff out of the guestroom so Pete's parents' could have it. His sister was going to take the room that would become the nursery and his brother was just going to camp out in the basement. "You can just stay here," he told Ryan as he brushed his teeth in the bathroom. "I mean, you can come if you want, but--"

"I'll stay." Ryan agreed. He hadn't left the house since the doctor's appointment. "I'll make sure the rooms are clean and stuff."

Pete appeared in the doorway, his teeth brushed and deodorant on. "The rooms are clean. I checked. Don't worry, Ry."

"I'm so fat," the boy whispered pitifully. "Why couldn't they have met me when I was skinny?"

His answer was a kiss on the cheek and Pete murmuring something about him being beautiful. "I have to go now. Call me if you're craving anything. We can hit a store on the way back. No one's going to mind."

Ryan hesitated before reaching out and grabbing Pete's wrist to keep him from leaving just yet. "I, um . . . what do they . . . do they think we were dating or . . . do they know that we were just . . . fucking?" He was so nervous, wanted to make such a good impression. He hadn't said anything to give it away until that moment, when there was no more time left to wait.

"I told them it was off and on." Pete kissed Ryan one more time. "Don't worry. They'll love you. But I have to go. Call 'Trick if you need anything, okay? I love you."

He was gone before Ryan could answer, which was good because the boy wasn't entirely sure what to say in response.

\---

Ryan had every intention of getting up and maybe throwing something in the oven, getting dressed, doing his hair. He was going to put the dog outside and make sure none of the DVD players had porn in them. But he fell back asleep almost immediately after Pete left.

"He said he was getting up, but he only got a few hours of sleep last night 'cause the baby wouldn't stop kicking," Pete was saying as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, silently thankful no one had commented on the vultures with cameras, waiting, as they pulled into the driveway.

"Have you guys picked out any baby names yet?" Hilary asked as Pete walked down the hallway to let her and their parents put their luggage in the guestrooms.

Her older brother shook his head in response. "Ryan says no picking names until the nursery's finished. And at the rate that's going the baby might not have a name until he's two." They all chuckled at that and then Pete ducked into the master bedroom to check on the aforementioned boy.

Ryan opened his eyes when he heard the door click. "Did I fall asleep?" he asked. His voice was so quiet and embarrassed that Pete just wanted to squeeze him like a teddy bear.

Instead, he knelt by the bed, brushing Ryan's hair out of his face. "It's okay," he murmured affectionately, kissing the boy's cheek. "You didn't sleep much last night. Nobody's going to think you're rude."

"I was going to make food." Ryan's voice cracked from disuse and Pete smiled.

"I'll make the food, baby. Go back to sleep." He stayed there for a minute, until Ryan's eyes closed again before standing up and leaving, making sure to shut the door quietly behind him. "He's out," Pete announced to the living room at large when he entered. "But he'll be up later. So who's hungry?"

The five of them ate, making small talk about the plane and what colors Pete wanted to do the nursery before Andy and Hilary made up some excuse to go outside. They were going to smoke and everyone knew it, but their parents always appreciated the lie.

Unfortunately, that meant Pete was his mother's mercy as soon as the back door shut. "So," she asked, turning and fixing her eyes on her oldest child, "is the marriage . . . working?"

Pete groaned while his father cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "Dale, I thought we said we weren't--"

"No, you said," the woman interrupted, glaring at her husband. "It's perfectly reasonable to want to know how someone's marriage is going."

"It's fine," Pete said pointedly. "Our marriage is fine. We're fine."

"What's going on?" Ryan was in the room all of a sudden, hiding a yawn behind his hand. He'd gotten dressed and brushed his hair, but there was still a faint pillow crease under his left eye that Pete decided not to mention.

"Nothing," the boy said, jumping at the chance to change the conversation. He walked across the room and took Ryan's hand, pulling the boy--who was still dead on his feet--over to the table. "Ryan, this is my mom, Dale. And my dad. Everyone just calls him Peter when I'm in the room."

Ryan shook hands and smiled, sitting down in the chair next to Pete's and glancing around the room. "What about the other two?" he asked in a low voice.

"Hilary and Andy are smoking pot in your backyard," Dale said, rather bluntly, but not with any real anger or malice.

Ryan choked on his laughter, reaching his hand out to grab Pete's under the table.

\---

That night was the first time Ryan had gone out since the doctor's appointment, the first time he'd gone out for something other than a doctor's appointment since he'd started to show. Pete had made reservations at a restaurant, told Ryan he didn't have to go, but the boy had put on a smile and said he would.

It was getting impossible to hide the bump. Not so much because of how much weight he'd gained, because he hadn't gained as much as some people did, but because of the warm weather. The sweaters and hoodies he'd been able to wear until the middle of May were way too heavy and hot now.

When Pete held out one of his short-sleeved hoodies to the boy, Ryan hesitated. "Isn't a nice restaurant? Aren't we supposed to dress nice?"

The older boy grinned. "You're a celebrity. You can dress however you want."

Ryan didn't like the title and for that reason he hesitated again, but when they left the room it was zipped over his white tee shirt. The six of them had to drive two cars and Hilary volunteered to take the Lamborghini, which Pete laughed at, but agreed to without much thought. Ryan felt awkward sitting in the front seat of the SUV while Pete's parents sat in the back, but no one else seemed to find it strange.

Pete played with the radio while his father asked him some questions about the California weather and if he was working with Patrick on anything new. Hilary passed them at a green light, flipping Pete off with a laugh as she sped past. "She has no idea where we're going," Pete groused.

"GPS," Ryan mumbled with a very soft chuckle.

There were photographers outside the restaurant, which was favored by more than a few celebrities, but with five other people to crowd around him, any picture of Ryan was from an awkward angle and only featured part of his face, really. For that reason, the boy was much more at ease during the meal than he normally would have been.

He kept sneak glances at Hilary's arm tattoos until she turned in her seat, smiling at him, rolling up her sleeves and letting him examine them in more detail. "Do you have any?" she asked.

Ryan shook his head. "No. I was picking out lyrics, but then, you know . . ." His hand skimmed across his belly. "Got to wait."

"Did you end up picking out the lyrics?" Pete asked, reaching his fork out to steal one of the mushrooms from his brother's plate.

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, Tom Waits. 'Diamonds and Gold.'"

Pete's father looked up. "You listen to Tom Waits?" he asked.

Ryan smiled.

\---

"I want to talk about names," Ryan told Pete that night in bed, stifling a yawn. He was lying on his side, a pillow under his stomach and three behind his back. He had to be packed in by pillows and blankets. For some reason it seemed to signal to the baby that it was time to go to sleep.

Pete looked up from his laptop uncertainly. "Yeah? You do?"

Ryan nodded, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth that Pete returned. "I love Oliver. For a boy. Like Twist."

"Like _Oliver & Company_."

The younger boy laughed, reaching out and softly pushing at Pete's arm. "Shut up. You sound like Brendon. No, like Oliver Twist." He looked so pretty lying there, staring up at the older boy through his eyelashes, his face glowing slightly. His newfound excitement for the baby had made him even more beautiful to Pete, and he didn't know that was possible.

"Did you think of a middle name?"

Ryan shook his head. "I thought you could have the middle name. Fair's fair."

Pete leaned back, eyes closed, clearly thinking. He'd made a list of names that he'd hidden from Ryan, most of which were from movies and books and was no mentally sorting through it. "Frederick?" he asked, eyes opening, turning to look at the boy. "Oliver Frederick Wentz?"

Ryan was quiet for a moment, appraising it silently in his head. "What's it from?" he asked as if that would be the deciding factor.

Pete blushed slightly. "Well, sort of _Harry Potter_. Like, Fred Weasley but I made it Frederick."

The younger boy smiled, reaching out and taking Pete's hand in his. "I'm going to fall in love with you," he murmured. "I know I will. You're going to be such a good dad. I just . . . I know."

"You think I'll be a good dad?" Pete asked, all too aware that his eyes were suddenly wet. "Really?"

Ryan would have sat up, but it had taken thirty minutes to get into position on the bed and the baby--Oliver--had just stopped moving about ten minutes before. But Pete knew and that was enough. "Yeah. Don't sound so surprised." He squeezed Pete's hand. "You already love him so much. You don't have anything to worry about."

"You don't either, Ry," Pete returned gently.

The younger boy squeezed his hand one more time. "I'm going to sleep now." He nodded. "Can you get the lights, please?" His eyes were closed when Pete got back into bed.


	3. Push Your Luck

Ryan didn't smoke and he didn't want to be around it because of the baby, but when Andrew and Hilary were done, he would go outside and just sit with them. Hilary was only a few years older than him and Andrew was his age. They didn't want to talk about the same things Pete's parents did, Pete's mother in particular. It was just nice to sit around and talk about normal things, like Hilary's job and what her friend had said at some party that was hilarious. Andrew didn't talk as much when he was high, but he was quiet in a comfortable way. They didn't stare at Ryan's stomach.

It was the day before they were set to leave and Andrew decided to speak for once. "So, when are your parents coming out to interrogate Pete?"

Hilary gave a small, warning shake of her head at her brother, but he didn't seem to notice. Ryan did, however. "It's okay," he told her, turning to look at his brother-in-law. "My dad died last year. And my mom's . . . I think she's in Phoenix, but I haven't talked to her in a few years."

"Oh." The boy shifted awkwardly. "Sorry, I didn't mean--"

"It's fine," Ryan interrupted, shrugging, turning his head and staring across the yard. Hemingway was trying to drink out of the pool again. "Shit happens."

Hilary put her hand on top of Ryan's, didn't say anything, just set it there and started talking about they ought to have a movie night. "Or something. Popcorn, hanging out. It would just be fun. Before we all leave."

"We've got a billion movies," Ryan agreed, his other hand moving to his stomach as the baby delivered a particularly hard kick to the bottom of his ribcage. A month ago he would have said 'Pete's got a billion movies'.

\---

"The three of them are getting along pretty well," Dale observed. She was peering out the window as she tried to straighten up the couch that was Hemingway's territory. Pete had told her not to, but she'd ignored him.

"Ryan doesn't smoke," her son said, answering the question she hadn't asked. "He never has. He doesn't drink either."

The woman didn't say anything for a moment, but when she did, her voice was tinged with tears. "I just want the best for you. That's all. He's so young, Pete."

He sat on the chair for a moment, staring hard at the magazine he was looking at, before he set it down and got up, hugging his mother tightly. "I know," he told her. "I know you do, Mom. But I love him. We're going to be okay. We're having a baby."

"We weren't even there when you got married." There were tears on her cheeks now as they separated. She brought a hand up and put it on his cheek. "This isn't easy, being married. You have to work on it, every day of your life."

Pete nodded, taking a shaky breath. "We're working on it. You know me." He smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in it. "I'm stubborn. I get what I want."

"I just worry," Dale said. She straightened up, blinking a few times and then giving a smile she didn't entirely feel. "He's a sweet boy."

"He's perfect." Pete laughed.

"No one's perfect, baby."

"He's the closest thing."

\---

Ryan didn't go to the airport, but he did get up to hug everyone good-bye and let Hilary put hers and Andy's numbers into his phone. _"Call me if you need anything. Or just want to talk. Whatever."_ After they left, he'd gone back to bed. Or tried to, rather. The baby wouldn't stop kicking and Ryan was so exhausted he spent fifteen minutes crying and pleading with the baby to stop. It didn't work, of course, and he ended up in the bathtub. Warm water seemed to calm down the kicking. He couldn't sleep in the tub, but at least he could close his eyes and just relax.

"Ryan? Ry." The boy woke up with a start as he felt Pete's hand shaking his shoulder gently. He'd fallen asleep in the tub, somehow, and was suddenly completely aware of how cold the water was and how he had no clothes on. Not that Pete hadn't seen him naked before, but his skin was pruny and his belly looked even more swollen in this position.

Pete stood up, holding his hands out for Ryan to take. The boy could get up and out of bed and such by himself, but it had started becoming easier to have some leverage, something to grab onto. He awkwardly shifted, one hand braced on the edge of the tub and the other reaching up to slip into Pete's palm. The older boy got towels out of the cupboard. "I'll get you some clothes?" he offered and Ryan nodded as the older boy slipped past the doorway.

"Thanks. Just sweats and a tee shirt? I'm going back to bed if he'll stay still for five minutes."

"Is that why you were in the tub?" Pete called. "He's kicking too much?"

Ryan covered a yawn with his hand and began to dry off, shivering slightly in the cold. "Yeah. He's hyperactive or something, like Brendon after a freakin' case of Red Bull."

Pete came back in and set the clothes down on the counter. "Is he still kicking?"

Ryan shook his head and reached for the boxers Pete had brought in. It was strange, but he still felt slightly awkward getting dressed in front of him. He'd done it before they were married, but only after sex, really. It was strange to be having a conversation while he was pulling on clothes, towel-drying his hair naked, not even thinking about sex. "No, he's fine now. Knock on wood," he added, reaching out to lightly rap his knuckles against the cupboard.

Pete opened his mouth to say something, but his phone interrupted, the ringtone he'd programmed for Patrick going off. "Dammit," he muttered, digging into his pocket and pulling it out. He gave Ryan a small smile before he wandered into the other room. "Dude, Ryan's naked. What the hell do you want?"

The boy laughed and hurried to put on his boxers. Of course, hurrying wasn't as easy as it used to be. Bending over was not the easiest feat in the world. He had three choices, really, when it came to putting on underwear and pants or jeans. He could either squat and then slowly stand back up, sit down and then push himself back up, or ask Pete to do it for him. He had only brought himself to do the latter once and the first seemed easier in this situation. By the time his husband wandered back into the bathroom, Ryan was tugging on the tee shirt.

"So, Patrick wants to know if I can come over and listen to the music he's been writing for this song . . ."

Ryan quirked an eyebrow at the hesitation of Pete's tone. "You don't need my permission to do things," he said quietly. "I'm not, like, your keeper or whatever."

"No, I just. I mean." Pete mentally cursed in his head. He hated the mood swings. Two days ago Ryan had practically screamed at him for running to the store without informing anyone. _("You could have gotten in a car accident or something and I wouldn't have even known you were gone. I would have had a dead husband and a baby on the way. Why do you make me worry like that?")_ It certainly didn't help matters that Pete's entirely family had been in the next room, able to hear every word. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't need me for anything."

Ryan smiled. "No, I'm going back to sleep. Hopefully. I'm fine." He took a step forward and kissed Pete softly on the mouth. "But you could bring me back some chocolate ice cream."

"I will." Pete helped Ryan get situated in bed again with the six pillows and closed the blinds to block out the sun streaming into the room. "I shouldn't be gone that long, but I'll call if it gets late. I love you."

Ryan murmured something unintelligible that somehow managed to sound affectionate at the same time, lifting his hand in the air in a farewell gesture. He was already half-asleep. Pete grabbed his keys off the dresser and made sure Hemingway had food before he climbed in his car and backed out of the driveway, resisting the urge to mow down the paparazzi. Their numbers had dwindled for the most part, but anytime he left the house there would be double the amount when he got back. "Fuckers," Pete muttered, accelerating a little too quickly.

\---

The music was perfect, as always. Pete fought like hell to get Patrick to change a chord progression anyway. He didn't win, but he didn't really want to. He thought maybe he just wanted to get out some frustrations and he felt like shit afterward, but Patrick never held onto musical fights after they were done. "So how's everything going with Ryan?" Patrick asked as they wandered out to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water, letting Pete dig around for a can of soda.

"Fine." The older boy straightened up, letting the refrigerator door close. "I mean, he's still moody and pregnant and doesn't want to talk to me about anything important, but we named the baby a few nights ago, so that's good." He opened the can and took a drink.

Patrick gave a soft smile, almost patronizing, but Pete didn't notice that part. "That's great. What name?"

"Oliver Frederick."

"Like Oliver Twist."

"Apparently." Pete laughed. "Yeah, Ryan picked it. He says we'll call him Ollie for short. I don't know. He . . . He really only got excited about the baby after the press found out, you know? It's weird."

Patrick shrugged, took a drink of his water. "Well, not really. I mean, it's one less thing he doesn't have to worry about. Everyone knows so he doesn't have to hide it anymore."

"How is getting chased by the paparazzi _less_ stressful?" Pete's voice was a little too sharp. He realized it, but didn't bother to apologize. "He still doesn't leave the house so I don't see what the difference is."

Patrick didn't want to have the conversation anymore. It was all speculation anyway. Just his observations of Pete, transferring them to Ryan. Ryan was Pete, in a way. A quieter Pete, a more reserved Pete, someone who was more scared and more closed up, but still very much like his husband. "I don't know," he mumbled finally. "Just a guess."

Pete nodded, smiling to himself, considering the conversation a success. The argument hadn't even started and he'd managed to win. "We should go grab lunch or something."

Patrick nodded his assent. "Yeah, sure. Let me get my wallet." Something was wrong with Pete, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. Maybe he was just worrying too much. He hoped he was just worrying too much.

\---

Ryan woke up about two hours later. The baby kicking up a storm coupled with his stomach growling were not conducive to sleeping comfortably. It wasn't the first time Ryan wished it were September so that the pregnancy could be over. A baby would probably be just as difficult, but at least it wouldn't be kicking his ribcage from the inside.

Pete was still gone. Ryan started slightly as he realized this. He was still pushing himself up from the bed, hadn't even left the room yet, and somehow he knew Pete wasn't in the house. That had to be a good sign. He swore as the baby aimed a particular hard kick to the center of his abdomen. "I'll feed you in a minute," he muttered, reaching for his phone on the nightstand as he stretched.

Leftover Chinese food into the microwave and the last of the chocolate ice cream covered in caramel syrup into a plastic bowl while Ryan hit speed dial four and put the phone to his ear. Spencer answered on the third ring and his voice was subdued when he spoke. "Ry?"

"Hey," the boy returned, opening the microwave as it beeped. "I, um . . . I just . . ."

"I'm sorry," Spencer interrupted. "Like, really. I mean, I think you should talk to Pete more, but I shouldn't have said it like that." It had been eating at him and Haley had been trying to talk him into calling Ryan since the fight, but he'd been putting off. Had it really been over a week? Haley had left four days ago. "And I don't mind you calling. It was just . . ."

"Bad timing?" Ryan offered, his mouth slightly full from ice cream, but his words still understandable. The heat of the argument, of his anger when that call had ended was gone. The hurt was still there, but lesser, pushed to the side from the events of the week.

Spencer didn't say anything for a minute, just cleared his throat awkwardly. "So how'd the family thing go anyway? Were they cool?"

Ryan nodded automatically, his mouth full of Chicken Chow Mein. "Yeah," he added after he swallowed. "I don't know if his mom likes me though. But Andy and Hil are really cool. They're closer to my age than Pete is." It was a dry laugh. Too dry for Spencer's taste.

"Yeah, but Pete acts your age."

Ryan smiled. "Yeah." His hand moved to his stomach as the baby kicked again. "We picked a name, by the way. Oliver."

"Twist?"

"Mhm." Ryan felt a bit of warmth at the single word. Spencer knew what he was thinking most of the time. It was a comfort in a world that he was still trying to make sense of. "Oliver Frederick Wentz."

There was a noise on the other line and Ryan knew his best friend had dropped the phone. "Shit, sorry," the boy said a second later. "Dog jumped on me. You just reminded me, though. Brendon wanted to know if you were going to, like, start going by Ryan Wentz on the albums and shit? I don't know why he's asking now when we're not recording until after, but, yeah."

"Ryan Wentz sounds pretty stupid."

"You're the one who decided to change it."

Ryan stabbed at the noodles in the take-out box absently. "Yeah, I know."

\---

Pete came home a few hours later with ice cream. He sat next to Ryan on the couch, leaning in to brush his lips against the boy's cheek. "Hey. Sleep good?"

Ryan nodded, giving a soft smile. "Yeah. Got a few hours. Thanks for bringing ice cream."

Pete gave a nod of his own. "The song's good. I mean, obviously, 'cause it's Patrick, but . . ."

"That's good." Ryan was quiet. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired." He reached out, letting his palm press against Pete's thigh for a moment. "I'm . . . I might go take a nap." His voice was almost apologetic. "I know you just got home, but I'm exhausted."

Pete didn't seem upset. "That's fine, Ry. I, um . . . actually. There's this party tonight."

The boy smiled, tilting his head to the side. "Yeah? You should go. Get out of the house. Sounds like fun."

"Do you want to go?"

Ryan laughed, loudly. "Yeah, but uh, not like this." He let a hand skim over his stomach. "You go. Have fun." He leaned in for the kiss, letting his lips part slightly. Kisses were starting to get warmer, happen more naturally. The soft, sweet, chaste kisses. The sex kisses were something they had gotten the hang of long before they'd put on their rings. The sonogram pictures could testify to that.

"You're sure?" Pete brought his hand up, letting his palm stroke across Ryan's cheek before tangling softly in the boy's hair. "I could stay," he murmured, closing the space between them with another kiss.

But the boy just laughed again, tilting his head forward to lean his and Pete's foreheads together for a moment before sitting up. "I'm tired. Sorry." But he seemed so much more comfortable with saying no. Pete wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he just reached out and squeezed Ryan's thigh.

"Okay. I'll help you get into bed, okay? And then . . . well, just expect me late, okay? 'Cause I don't want to wake you up if you're asleep."

Ryan nodded, putting his hand to his mouth to cover a yawn. "Okay."

\---

Ryan woke up again around six, ate, and watched a movie. He called Spencer and then went back to bed at nine. When he woke up again at twelve, Pete was still gone. He ate again, went to the bathroom, and went back to bed, his hand on his stomach. At three, he woke up to a particularly loud peal of laughter coming from the living room. A distinctly _female_ laugh. The baby was kicking, hard, and Ryan put his hand on his belly again. "Shhh," he whispered. "I'm sure it's fine." But he wasn't sure, and he got up to look.

He walked slowly down the hallway, which was dim, only the light coming from the living room casted a dull glow. Pete was sitting on the couch, facing a girl in a dress with long, bare legs that were resting on the coffee table. There was another girl in the arm chair, dressed in the same manner and a girl sitting on the floor between her legs, wearing jeans and a shirt that didn't leave much of her bra size to the imagination. Pete was laughing, his cheek resting against his hand, arm propped up on the back of the couch.

Ryan gave him fifteen seconds to look up and notice him before he cleared his throat. It was too late to care about three strange girls looking up and noticing him in his sweats with his bloated stomach. He was too angry to care. Pete looked up at the noise, grinned broadly, getting up and walking over to the boy, somewhat unsteady on his feet. He was drunk.

Ryan turned and took a few steps back into the hallway, out of eyesight from the three strangers in the living room, arms crossed over his chest. He tensed when he felt Pete's hands on his back before the older boy was in front of him, still smiling. "Did we wake you up? Sorry," he added without waiting for an answer.

Ryan glared. "Who the hell are they?" He could feel the blood rushing through his veins and the baby was kicking, harder, perhaps mimicking what Ryan really wanted to do to Pete's kneecaps at that moment.

"F-friends," Pete stammered, his smile sliding off his face.

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Friends that you met at the party?"

"I didn't do anything," Pete said, overly defensive. "We didn't . . . I'm not cheating on you," he hissed.

If anything, that statement only made Ryan more angry. Like _that_ was what he was upset about, like he didn't trust Pete to be alone with a girl without ripping her clothes off. "Get them out of our house," he snapped, voice low. "Now." His eyes flashed and he leaned forward when Pete didn't move. "Now, I said."

Pete took a shaky breath. "They're drunk."

"No shit. Call a cab, I don't care. Get them out of the house." He stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed until Pete finally sighed.

"Fine." He turned and walked down the hallway, leaving Ryan alone in the faint darkness. The kicks slowed somewhat as Ryan walked back into the master bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, putting his face in his hands and trying not to cry.

He was lying down when the door opened and Pete came back in, trying to arrange the pillow behind his back perfectly. But it was all lost when he sat back up, staring at Pete again. "They're gone," the older said, voice somewhat subdued as he tossed his jacket to the floor and pulled his shirt over his head.

"You should sleep in the guest room," Ryan mumbled, not quite meeting Pete's eyes.

The boy stopped in the middle of kicking his jeans off to turn his face toward the bed. "What? Why?" He was defensive again, almost angry, but Ryan didn't even care.

He shrugged, fingers twisting in the comforter. "Because I don't want to see you tonight." Ryan didn't want to look at Pete. He was worried he would cry if he did, bring all of those emotions back up. He was trying to push them down, just for the night, just so he could go back to sleep. The baby kicked so hard when Ryan was upset, like it could sense what was going on, doing the only thing it could in response.

"Why should I sleep in the guest room then?" Pete was tired, still drunk, angry. "You sleep in the guest room."

Ryan's eyes flicked up at that statement. "I'm pregnant," he said in an obvious tone. "I'm already in bed. It takes me thirty minutes just to situate these pillows. Go sleep in the fucking guest room. Or go get more drunk. I don't care. Just get out and leave me alone." He laid back down, burying his face in the pillow, pulling the blanket over his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, trying to keep the tears inside.

Pete swore, loudly, stomping into the hallway and slamming the door so hard the frames on the walls rattled. Ryan could feel the tears leaking out, sliding down his cheeks. He tried to breathe as evenly as he could, but it didn't last. The baby was kicking again and Ryan couldn't say anything to calm him down. "He just doesn't understand," he whispered to his belly, lifting his shirt up to skim his fingers across the bump. "I don't understand either, but I'm trying."

The kicks seemed to lessen somewhat, but Ryan wasn't sure if he was imagining things.

\---

Pete threw himself onto the bed in the guest room, burying his face in the pillow that smelled like Ryan and screaming, hitting his fist against the mattress. One, two, three, four times until he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Didn't even . . . and I could've, too," he said angrily to the empty room.

He kicked his shoes off and sat up, unzipping his hoodie, looking at his phone as it slipped from his jacket pocket and onto the bed. Pete thought about it for a moment, if he should call Patrick at four in the morning, but then he realized he didn't really give a damn what he _should_ do and dialed the number.

Patrick answered after four rings. He would have sounded pissed if he weren't so tired. "If Ryan's not in labor, then fuck you."

"He's, like, the ultimate bitch-wife."

There was a silence and Patrick's voice was a little clearer when he spoke again. "Like I said, fuck you. See you tomorrow." He hung up and Pete scowled, tossing the phone onto the bed and stripping down to his boxers, crawling under the sheets even though he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.

"Maybe if you put out once in awhile I wouldn't be so interested in them," he whispered to the pillow before squeezing his eyes shut and starting to count backward from three hundred. He got to one hundred twenty-seven before he got up and pulled his cigarette box from the back of the freezer, taking Hemingway outside and falling asleep in a lawn chair next to the pool an hour later.

\---

When Ryan woke up in the morning, Patrick was sitting on the corner of the bed, legs crossed Indian-style, playing around on his cell phone. He turned when he felt Ryan shift, giving a small smile. "Hi," he said quietly. "Pete called me."

Ryan groaned, putting his hand to his face and contemplating rolling over and going back to sleep. Unfortunately, the needs of his bladder wouldn't allow for such a thing. He pushed himself up and held his hands out to Patrick, who stood to pull the boy up. "In a minute," he told Patrick, giving the smallest roll of his eyes and walking into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. After he'd taken care of business, he brushed his teeth, just to give himself an excuse to waste time.

Ryan adored Patrick, but Patrick was Pete's best friend. And he didn't have an ally to call and come over. It was hardly fair. "Your father is a moron," he told his stomach after he spit in the sink and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Actually, both of us are, probably," he added as an afterthought, sighing and walking to the door, returning to the room where Patrick was sitting on the bed again. "So, what did he tell you?" He sat on the edge of the bed, refraining from crossing his arms over his chest.

Patrick put his phone in his pocket. "Well, _he_ said that he invited some friends over and you freaked out." He frowned. "But I don't think that's the whole story."

Ryan immediately felt a surge of gratitude, mentally kicking himself for thinking Patrick would immediately buy Pete's bullshit. Patrick _was_ Pete's best friend. But all that really meant was that Patrick knew Pete's bullshit inside and out. "If you call friends three drunk girls he met at a party . . ." He didn't want to put the other boy in the middle of the two of them. He didn't want to sound like he was nagging or whining. What he really wanted to do was scream, but he wouldn't let himself.

"He said they didn't do anything." Patrick's voice was even, controlled, as if he didn't want to sound like he was defending Pete.

"I never thought they did," Ryan returned, sighing and seeming to sink into himself. "It wasn't about that. I know he wouldn't cheat on me. But there's boundaries and he just doesn't seem to get that." He raked a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the hunger in his stomach as the baby kicked his disapproval at not being fed immediately. "Can you . . . take him? For a day or two? I don't want to see him right now."

Patrick hesitated. "What if you need something?"

"I'll call," Ryan said, voice even. "But right now I need him out of the house."

There was silence for a moment and Patrick reached out, squeezing the boy's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Yeah. I'll get him out of here for a few days."

"Thank you."

Ryan made a quick breakfast and took it down to the basement, hating the way he had to practically waddle down the stairs. He could hear the footsteps, Pete's loud cursing and Patrick's indistinct voice that was probably trying to call him down. Door slams and quieter slams that were probably dresser drawers. The baby started kicking again and Ryan tried to slow his breathing, but it didn't help this time, so he just continued to eat, trying to ignore the noises and the kicking, turning the volume on the television set up every time he heard another curse or slam.

Patrick appeared at the foot of the stairs about half an hour later. "We're leaving now, Ry," he informed the boy. "Call one of us if you need anything."

"'Kay," Ryan returned, voice distant. He muted the televison about ten minutes later, enjoying the silence, trying to see if the quiet would get the kicking to slow. No such luck.

\---

"This is total bullshit," Pete said in the car, kicking his foot out viciously, causing Patrick to suck in a quick breath. "Getting kicked out of my own fucking house."

"It's his house, too," Patrick said quietly, knowing Pete didn't care, but hoping he wouldn't come back with some retort about how it wasn't _really_ Ryan's house. He didn't.

"He's got nothing to be pissed about."

Patrick decided to wait until they got back to his apartment to continue the conversation. He really didn't want Pete to destroy the interior of his car. Auto repairs were time consuming and really unnecessary in a car that was less than a year old.

When Pete realized the conversation wasn't going to continue, he just turned his head and stared out the window, silently glowering. The thing that made him so angry about the situation wasn't Ryan's reaction or getting kicked out of the house or that he'd gotten caught. It was that he knew he shouldn't have done it. He'd known it at the party when he was dancing with the girl he thought said her name was Carrie. His ring had started to itch his finger, or so it seemed. But he wouldn't admit out loud, not any of it. Because then he _was_ wrong. And he didn't think he could handle that.

"He doesn't have any appointments this week or anything, does he?" Patrick asked as he slowed for a red light.

Pete shook his head. "No." His voice was softer than it had been before, but Patrick chose not to comment on it. Pete would come around in his own time. There was no point in rushing him.

\---

Three days later and Ryan still didn't want Pete to come home, but he did want McDonalds. It was his first time venturing out on his own since the fight months before when he'd stormed out of the house. There weren't any photographers outside, which he was pleasantly surprised about, as he pulled out of the gate and followed the direction the GPS was giving him from the dash.

He was going to have to let Pete come home or call Patrick or come up with a third solution, he thought as he drove. They were going to need groceries soon. Or at least he was. He was more than willing to drive through a fast food joint on his own, but there was no way he was going shopping. He ordered too much at McDonalds and knew he wouldn't be able to finish it, pregnant or not, but he ordered it anyway because it made him feel better.

He was still thinking about how to solve his grocery dillema as he drove home, swearing under his breath as he saw the dozen or so photographers outside the house. At least Pete's tinted windows came in handy for things like that. He refrained from flipping them off as he drove past, pulling into the garage and shutting the garage door before he got out of the car.

Hemingway was waiting when Ryan got inside, growling at the boy once before turning and walking away, crawling underneath the couch no one was allowed to sit on besides him (and occasionally Pete). Ryan rolled his eyes and walked into the living room, inhaling a Big Mac and one thing of fries before he even reached for the remote to turn on the television.

When he was done eating, he got up to go to the bathroom and then called Spencer as he returned to the living room to gather up and throw away the fast food wrappers. "Hello?"

"Hey, Spin." Ryan gave a small smile as the baby gave a kick when he said the other boy's name. "What's up?"

"Nothing as interesting as your life, I bet," the boy returned. "Brendon's over and I'm kicking his ass at Combat Arms."

"Bullshit!" Ryan heard a voice yell from the background. "I love you, Ry!" the same voice added brightly.

The boy smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with heartburn from too much fast food. "I miss you guys," he said, voice thick. He blinked quickly, not wanting Spencer to know he was dangerously close to tears now. He knew the boy wouldn't say anything, but he hated it. He wasn't normally a crier, but the pregnancy made his hormones dance in the strangest ways. "Listen, I, uh . . . I'm in a fight with Pete. Do you . . . could you come out for awhile?"

Ryan heard footsteps and the noises from the video game growing more distant. "Is everything okay?" Spencer asked quietly. "You're not, like, getting a . . . you know?"

"Highly doubtful," Ryan said with a sarcastic laugh. "But he's an asshole and we're fighting. He brought home three girls. They weren't fucking, but it was three a.m."

Spencer was quiet for a moment. "I can come out, yeah. Do you want just me or do you want Brendon to come or . . ."

"Just you right now?" Ryan ran a hand across his stomach where he could tell the baby was rolling around now instead of kicking. "I'll pay for the ticket."

"Don't be stupid," Spencer said dismissively. "I can pay for a plane ticket. When do you want me to come out?"

"Soon." Ryan swore under his breath as his eyes stung, tears now swimming in them. "Fuck, I hate acting like a girl."

"Well, you always looked like one, so now things are even at least."

"Fuck you, Spin."

"I'll call you when I get a flight, okay?"

"Thanks."

After Ryan ended the call, he leaned against the counter in the kitchen, sighing heavily and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He pulled his shirt up and looked at his stomach. "Can't you be ready to come out yet?" he asked. "Maybe he'll grow up when he actually sees you."

The baby, of course, didn't answer and Ryan put his shirt back down, smoothing the fabric out over his belly. Spencer would be here soon and he'd help Ryan figure out what to do. He'd buy groceries and Ryan would somehow find a way to make Pete realized he'd fucked up, find a way to make the marriage work.

He hadn't even realized it wasn't working until last night. But obviously if Pete had brought home three drunk girls from a party, the two of them weren't doing as well as he'd thought.

"If you ever get pregnant," he whispered to the bump under his shirt, "don't get married in Vegas."


	4. Count the Miles

Spencer, for his part, only complained for about five minutes about unloading a car of groceries by himself. "Aren't you rich now that you're married to Pete? Can't people, like, deliver this shit to your door?"

Ryan unpeeled a banana. "People who deliver shit to your door don't know to randomly pick up things that aren't on the list," he answered with a shrug.

The boy laughed. "Like the gigantic box of popsicles I bought?"

Ryan's face lit up. "Yes. Like that."

Spencer had flown out three days before and Ryan hadn't talked to Pete or Patrick since they'd left. He missed Pete, but he was actually enjoying not having him around. He hoped that didn't mean bad things about their marriage. He knew he couldn't raise a baby by himself. And he really didn't want his marriage to be a joke. It was already a mistake (probably). He didn't need it to be a joke, too.

They were still laughing about the economy sized box of popsicles Spencer had purchased when Ryan's cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID, his eyebrows furrowing at Patrick's name on the screen. "Hello?" he asked, pressing the phone to his ear.

There was no sound for a moment and Ryan was starting to think he'd been pocket-dialed and then suddenly, Patrick spoke. "Pete's gone."

Ryan didn't know what to think at first. He glanced at Spencer who was watching him, concern painted on his features. Ryan gave a weak smile he didn't entirely feel and slowly walked out of the room. "What do you mean . . . gone?"

"He went to Chicago to stay with his parents," Patrick said. "For a couple weeks."

Ryan nodded, somewhat dazed, leaning against the wall in the hallway. He felt empty, like how he imagined he'd feel once he'd had the baby. "When did he leave?" he asked, voice soft, strained.

"Yesterday."

Ryan almost dropped his phone. "Yesterday?" he repeated, the softness completely evaporating from his voice. "He left yesterday and you didn't tell me?"

Patrick at least had the decency to sound somewhat ashamed. "He told me not to."

The boy snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, Pete told me he was a new-born turtle in a hundred year old tortoise shell. You might want to take what he says with a grain of salt."

"It's not the same thing, Ry." Patrick didn't mean to sound patronizing when he said it, but he did, voice stern, frowning.

Ryan's jaw set, his free hand clenching into a fist. "Yeah, well, fuck you, Patrick. He's not _your_ fucking husband. You're not seven months pregnant, so fuck you!" He screamed, not bothering to end the call as he slammed his phone against the wall, not even flinching when he heard the _crunch_ of the screen breaking. He dropped it to the carpet, stomping to the master bedroom.

Spencer was already following him down the hallway after hearing his best friend's outburst at Patrick. When he entered the room, Ryan was still yelling, swearing, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulled open dresser drawers and started throwing Pete's clothes onto the floor. "Fucking . . . jackass . . . not even thinking . . . selfish prick . . ."

"What did he do?" Spencer asked, voice somewhere between awe and fear. "Ryan, what did Pete do?"

The boy turned away from the dresser, a tee shirt in his hand. His entire body had seemed to shift when he heard Spencer's voice, his limbs caving in on him. "I can't do this," he said flatly. "Why the hell did I think I could do this, Spin?"

The younger boy had answers. He had a million of them, but he bit his tongue and just walked toward Ryan, wrapping his arms around the boy and letting him cry, trying not to suck in his breath as he felt the baby kicking between them.

\---

"You _can_ do this, though," Spencer told Ryan. It was a few hours later. They'd watched a movie, eaten. Spencer had called the phone company and they were over-nighting a replacement phone. Now they were in the master bedroom again, Spencer gathering up the clothes from the floor and handing them to Ryan, who was sitting on the foot of the bed and folding them.

The boy sniffed. "You sound awfully certain of that."

"I am," Spencer said, turning and holding out a shirt, pulling it back when Ryan reached for it. The boy looked up at him, frowning, eyes somewhat narrowed. "You can do anything, Ry. You've always been able to. You just have to want to."

Ryan leaned forward, tugging the shirt out of Spencer's hand and folding it, movements jerky, tossing it onto the growing pile beside him on the bed. "I want this," he mumbled. "I do."

Spencer handed him another shirt. "Then you can do this."

\---

They put Pete's clothes back in the dresser and didn't talk about the incident for the rest of the week. Spencer took Ryan to his doctor's appointment a few days later and Ryan told the nurse Pete was out of town for a few days. Not technically a lie. "So, that's the thing I'm going to be an uncle to?" Spencer asked when the sonogram video appeared on the screen.

Ryan laughed dryly. "What makes you think you get to be an uncle?"

"Dude, I'll be the best uncle ever. Shut up." Spencer smiled, leaning forward to examine the images more. "That looks like a real baby. How long until you're due again?"

Ryan looked at the screen, at the feet, at the hands, at the head. "September fifteenth," he murmured. "Two days before Jon's birthday. Almost eight months now." He looked at the ultrasound tech who was frowning somewhat, honing in on something on the screen. "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately fearing the worst. He stared at the screen again, looking for a cord wrapped around the baby's neck.

She gave a small laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. The angle just looked strange for a second. I thought maybe we'd made a mistake with the sex."

"Yeah, like you need anymore estrogen in your life," Spencer teased.

Ryan smacked his best friend's arm, looking at the screen again. "I don't care what it is as long as it's healthy," he said quietly. He wished Pete were there. Pete would be holding his hand, like he always did, making comments about how the baby's fingers looked perfect for playing guitar, even though there was no way to tell from the sonogram. He'd be flirting with the tech, but in that sweet innocent way that made Ryan smile.

"The baby looks perfectly healthy," the woman said, smiling. "Let's get a new picture for you. Do you want a copy to send to your husband?"

Ryan nodded distantly, accepting the paper towels that were handed to him when the technician left the room to get the sonogram pictures. He wiped the blue gel substance off his skin, making a face at the strange sensation he still couldn't get over. Spencer was wandering around the room, looking at the posters on the wall that listed signs of the flu and what to expect for every month of pregnancy. "I miss Pete," Ryan said suddenly, causing the younger boy to turn and look at him.

"You could call him when we get back."

Ryan shook his head, sighing heavily and struggling to push himself up from the position on his back. He felt like a turtle that had been flipped on its shell. Spencer came over to help him up. "I don't want to have that conversation on the phone." He sighed. "I don't--"

The door opened and the technician came back in, handing Ryan the photos in a manilla envelope. "Just see Miriam on your way out to schedule your next appointment and you know you can call us if you need anything."

"Thanks," Ryan told her, opening the envelope as they stepped into the hallway, examining the black and white image that he could now decode perfectly. "It's like a blueprint of a baby. You have to know how to read it, especially when they're little."

"I am so glad Haley's going to be having our kids," Spencer said as they made their way toward the receptionist. "Like, no offense. I think you've got to have a lot of balls to have a kid."

"My balls are bigger than yours?" Ryan asked, eyebrow raised.

Spencer laughed. "I'd rather not have a battle of testicular fortitude if it's all the same to you."

"You brought it up." But Ryan wasn't even listening to the other boy's answer. He was still staring at the ultrasound picture, eyebrows furrowed, thinking. Oliver wasn't even born yet and he was already so much like Pete. Or, at the very least, he had a way of making Ryan feel the same way Pete did.

\---

"I think you should call him and tell him to come back," Spencer said. They were in Ryan's bed, both leaning against the headboard--Ryan with half a dozen pillows behind him--watching _Juno_ , which had been Spencer's bright idea.

The boy just shook his head, barely glancing up from his new phone, which he was setting ringtones on. "I don't want to have that conversation on the phone."

"So tell him to come _back_ so you can have the conversation _here_ ," Spencer repeated, growing more agitated. "I mean, what are you going to do? Just ignore him and have the kid all by yourself and pretend you're not married anymore?"

"He'll come back eventually," Ryan mumbled. "I have his dog." He wasn't in the mood for the conversation, the confrontation, Spencer's stupid logic making so much sense it made him want to scream. He just wanted to ignore it, pretend there wasn't a problem. If he didn't think about it, he could convince himself Pete was at Patrick's and Spencer was visiting for the hell of it.

"And you expect him to just walk in and apologize, right? And actually mean it and know what he did wrong?"

Ryan looked up sharply, narrowing his eyes. "Well, he should."

"Just like you should call him." Spencer sat up, turning on the bed, facing Ryan, his legs tucked under him. "But you're not going to, and neither's he. Okay? He just . . . he's like you. Unless you tell him what he did, he's not going to admit it."

Ryan pursed his lips, looking back at his phone. "I'm not like that. And I'm done with this conversation."

Spencer sighed, watching Ryan put his phone down on the nightstand and reach for the glass of grape juice next to the alarm clock. He was running out of ideas. Ryan's stubbornness was formidable enough on its own terms, but when coupled with pregnancy it became a deadly weapon that wouldn't listen to any form of a reason. "Fine," he said quietly. "But seriously, Ry, do you even love Pete?"

The fingers on the glass tightened and Ryan's jaw clenched. It took him a moment to swallow the liquid that was already in his mouth before he set the glass back down. His hand squeezed into a fist that he dug into his side, trying so much to ignore the presence of Spencer sitting next to him on the bed, staring expectantly. He could feel his neck growing hot and the baby started to kick. Not hard kicks, softer, but incessant, almost like he was simply nudging Ryan with his foot, only from the inside out.

He didn't know how to answer the question. Was there any answer to the question? Of course he loved Pete. Just like he loved Brendon and Spencer and Jon. But that wasn't what the question _meant_. It was that 'in love' thing, where you cross over to the other side and you're supposed to see the world through rose-colored glasses and feel like you belong to something that's going to change your life. Ryan was angry and upset and felt like crying. His feet were swollen and his jeans had an elastic waistband in them. There was no way he'd reached the point of rose-colored glasses.

Spencer sighed and turned back toward the television, leaning against the pillows and the headboard again, watching the movie that probably hadn't been that great of an idea to put in the DVD player in the first place.

Ryan turned his head to the side, squeezing his eyes closed. He felt somewhat nauseous now, his head spinning like a carousel. He just kept seeing moments, snippets, like a movie trailer of his life since he'd agreed to go to that chapel and put on the ring Pete had picked up at the mall the same day. He could remember how much Pete had smiled when he'd agreed to go, how he was practically beaming afterward, most of his teeth showing in his smile. And then when he'd moved in, Pete had tried so hard to make sure everything was okay, telling Ryan he could have whatever dresser drawers he wanted and they could make the closet bigger if they needed to.

Burning pizza a few weeks before Ryan had started to show and couldn't go outside anymore. The smoke alarm going off and Hemmingway barking like it was a gunshot. They'd laughed so hard and Ryan had let Pete bend him over the counter afterwards. Sex wasn't such a commodity at the beginning, not when Ryan was smiling and able to let go and forget. But then he'd started to show and he'd felt so ugly, so fat, so not himself. Started questioning everything, from people to motives to himself. And he'd had every right to, but had he shut Pete out in the process?

The night by the pool, when Patrick had been there and then left, when they'd fucked on the couch in the living room and Ryan had left immediately after, refusing to snuggle or cuddle or even really kiss Pete. Had he been running from something he'd caught a glimpse of or did he really just feel fat? Was he jinxing himself before he even knew what he was trying to do?

And that night, when he'd caught Pete with the girls, was he lying to himself when he said he never even thought about the prospect of Pete sleeping around? Was he really secretly terrified that Pete had been looking at someone else, talking to someone else, having fun with someone else? Or was he really just angry about crossing lines and boundaries? Why wouldn't he look at Pete afterward? Why wouldn't he talk to him? Was he worried about something he'd see in himself more than something he'd see in the other's eyes?

Why did he seem to care so much about someone he claimed to not care that much about?

Ryan turned his head toward Spencer, reaching his hand out and nudging it against his best friend's wrist. "Spin?" he whispered, voice shaking somewhat.

The younger boy turned to look at him, blue eyes soft. "Yeah, Ry?"

"I'm in love with Pete."

Spencer shifted, moving his hand to squeeze Ryan's, giving a soft smile that didn't show any of his teeth until he spoke. "Yeah, I know. So what do you want to do about it?"

\---

The next morning, Spencer woke up to a _thud_ and Ryan's soft swearing. He rolled over, burying his face under the pillow before remembering his best friend was pregnant so he needed to at least _check_. When he sat up, he saw Ryan setting a suitcase on the foot of the bed. "Are we going on a trip?" he asked. "Or is that your overnight bag?" He immediately glanced at the white wristband that was sitting on Ryan's nightstand. No lights were lit up on the device and it wasn't beeping. He exhaled gratefully.

"We're going to Chicago," Ryan said, walking over to the dresser and pulling one of his drawers open. "So you should pack when you get up." He was fully dressed, his hair brushed. "I'd like to leave after lunch."

Spencer was completely awake after he'd heard 'Chicago'. "We're going to . . ." He rubbed at his ear, making sure he'd heard correctly.

"To get Pete, yeah," Ryan said, turning again, this time with clothes in his hand that he made sure were properly folded before he began putting them in the black suitcase. He'd been up most of the night, thinking about Spencer's question. The baby had been uncharacteristically quiet with his kicking, as if letting Ryan collect his thoughts and straighten them out.

Spencer looked confused for a moment, letting those words roll around and sink in before he stood up. He still wasn't sure he'd heard correctly and he needed to pee. But when he came out of the bathroom, Ryan was still putting clothes in his suitcase, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. "You do realize you're pregnant?"

Ryan turned to look at the other boy, eyebrow raised. "Wow. Really?" he asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He returned to the dresser. "Yes, I'm aware. Which is why we're driving, not flying."

"You know we're more likely to get in a car wreck than a plane crash, right? And what if you go into labor early?"

Ryan shut the dresser drawer quickly, leaning forward, seething. He waited for a few moments, trying to fight back all the nasty things he wanted to scream. "Look, either you drive me or I'll call Brendon. And if Brendon drives me, the chances of that car wreck are going to increase exponentially." He looked at his best friend. "You're the one who asked me what I wanted to do about this."

Spencer gave a small noise of frustration. "I thought you'd call him and tell him to come back. I didn't realize you were planning a road trip halfway across the country." He sighed, sitting down on the bed. "But I guess you need the culmination of the grand gesture, huh?"

"Something like that."

Another sigh and Spencer stood up. "I need to eat first. Then I'll pack. I'm driving the whole thing though. It'll take a few days."

Ryan nodded. He didn't say anything else as Spencer left the room, just continued grabbing clothes and then went into the bathroom to pack toiletries. He still hadn't planned exactly what he was going to say to Pete, but he'd scribbled down a few things in his journal. The three drunk girls hadn't been forgiven or forgotten, but they could be, he'd decided, if they talked about it. Spencer was right, as usual. Ryan needed to say something if he wanted Pete to acknowledge the boundaries he hadn't drawn. Sometimes he forgot that he wasn't the only person figuring out what being married meant.

"And you better be good on this trip," he told his stomach, pressing a hand to where he could feel the baby pressing against him. "Stay in there until you're supposed to." He set the things he'd gathered back down as he felt the familiar sensation of his bladder demanding to be emptied and sighed. "This drive is going to take a week if I have to stop and pee every two hours," he muttered.

\---

They didn't leave that day. Patrick wasn't in town. Ryan made Spencer call to see if Patrick could watch the dog, but he wasn't going to be back in the city for a couple of days. Spencer crossed his fingers that the minor setback would be enough to deter Ryan, but it wasn't. Not that Spencer had truly expected it to. Instead, Ryan had called Brendon, bought him a plane ticket. He couldn't get in until the next afternoon, but Ryan decided Hemmingway could be alone for a couple of hours so he and Spencer were going to be leaving at ten. He left a house key for Brendon inside a bird house Pete had randomly sitting on a shelf in the garage.

"You still don't think calling makes more sense?" Spencer asked as Ryan rolled his suitcase out to set it by the door.

"Of course calling makes more sense," Ryan replied shortly with a slight huff. "That's precisely why I'm _not_ calling."

"You and Pete are a match made in Heaven," Spencer said with a roll of his eyes. "Perpetual riddlers, you two."

"We're writers, Spin."

"Isn't that what I said?"

They spent the rest of the evening watching movies and randomly checking out loud to make sure they'd packed everything they would need, including an entire bag filled with snacks for Ryan that was currently sitting on the kitchen counter in case the pregnant boy felt any need to add to it.

Spencer was on his laptop, looking at directions and planning, in his head, how far he could drive in a day, what towns they would get a hotel in. He was hoping to avoid major cities, avoid the press. New York and Los Angeles took the prize for worst paparazzi, but that didn't mean other places wouldn't have photographers. Fortunately, the route they were taking lead through cities like Denver and Omaha, which weren't particularly known for their interest in pregnant guitarists from rock bands.

"I guess tomorrow we should put all the pillows in a suitcase," Ryan said. "I don't know how a hotel's going to feel about my request for a dozen pillows."

"I'll take care of it," Spencer told him. "You should go ahead and get some sleep though."

"I don't know how well I'm going to sleep." Ryan gave a tiny smile, slipping his hands under the blanket to rub at his stomach. "It's pretty stupid to be nervous about seeing him, isn't it?"

Spencer shrugged. "I don't think so. I get nervous talking to Haley after we fight sometimes. And you're married, so that's got to make it worse." He cocked his head to the side, thinking to himself for a moment. "What's it like being married?"

Ryan laughed. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."

\---

Spencer woke up before Ryan, around eight. He turned on the coffee pot and took the suitcases out to the Tahoe while it brewed. He'd wake Ryan up in forty-five minutes or so, give his friend time to shower and fret about anything he might have possibly forgotten. He still wasn't sure this impromptu trip to Chicago was a good idea, but it was a better idea than Brendon driving. And even if he could convince Brendon to say no, Ryan would either fly or drive himself and neither of those seemed to be a better idea to Spencer. At least if, God forbid, Ryan went into early labor on the road, they'd be able to drive to a hospital relatively quickly.

Once the suitcases were in the car, Spencer poured himself a cup of coffee and looked at the weather on his laptop. It was supposed to be clear skies all day, with the chance of a little bit of a rain in Utah, which Spencer was hoping to make most of the way through before it got too dark. Two more cups of coffee and he went upstairs to wake Ryan. The boy was already up, however. It didn't look like he'd been awake for too long. He was just coming out of the bathroom when Spencer opened the door. He was yawning, still dressed in pajama pants and a loose shirt.

"'Morning," Spencer said, smiling. "You still want to do this?"

Ryan waved his hand dismissively. "Just make me something for breakfast. I'll get dressed and come down."

"Any special requests?"

"Something I can cover in syrup." Ryan pulled open the dresser drawer and tossed a pair of maternity jeans behind him on the bed along with a clean pair of boxers. "After I eat we can go."

Spencer hesitated at the door. "Maybe we should wait until Brendon gets here."

"We're leaving after I eat," Ryan said again, voice sharper. "Now get out so I can change."

Spencer went back to the kitchen, throwing some frozen waffles into the toaster and checking his email one more time before he powered down his laptop. There was GPS in the car, but he still went to scoop up the directions he had printed out from the office. Spencer was nothing if not notoriously organized, a plan for the situation and a back-up plan in case of emergency.

When he came back into the kitchen, the waffles were done and he put them on a plate, pulled the bottle of syrup from the microwave as he tucked the directions inside his laptop case. Ryan came wandering in a moment later, practically inhaling the waffles before putting two more in the toaster and peeling a banana. "Have you double and triple-checked everything?" he teased.

Spencer idly flipped him off, zipping up his laptop case and making sure his phone and cell phone chargers were in the outside compartment. "Where's the charger for your wristband?" he asked.

"Fuck." Ryan made a face that brightened into a smile when his second serving of waffles popped up in the toaster.

"I'll get it," Spencer said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I have to make sure we didn't leave any lights on anyway. Just finish eating." He disappeared into the hallway and Ryan leaned back against the counter, continuing to eat his breakfast, one hand absently resting on his stomach, his fingers tapping in time to the baby's kicks.

\---

They'd barely gotten out of the city when Ryan made Spencer pull over at a gas station so he could pee. "This is gonna be a really long drive, isn't it?" Spencer asked as he got out of the car.

"Probably."

And it certainly seemed to be. It reminded Spencer of when they'd first started touring in the van. Except with only the two of them--and one of them being pregnant--there weren't a lot of antics going on in the back seat and there was no Brendon to do impersonations and suggest crank calling people on their cell phones. Instead Spencer just kept switching playlists on his iPod while Ryan attempted to get comfortable in his seat, eventually falling asleep, but only for about twenty minute increments at a time. Every few hours they stopped so he could go to the bathroom.

"So where are we planning on staying?" Ryan asked when they were almost to Vegas.

"Not here," Spencer said. "Hopefully most of the way through Utah."

It was weird driving through Vegas without stopping. Ryan wanted to suggest stopping by Spencer's house, but he didn't. He wasn't sure if stopping would have been more Spencer's benefit or his. It would have been nice to see Ginger. "How's your mom, by the way?"

The younger boy smiled softly. "She really wants to see you after the baby's born. I think she's convinced she's going to be Grandma Smith or something."

Ryan shifted in his seat, laughing a little. "She might as well be."

"Figured as much." Spencer grinned. "She got out all our baby books and made me look at pictures of my sisters."

Ryan laughed outright at that, feeling the baby kick sharply when he did, almost indignant. "Do you remember . . ." He sighed. "You remember when we used to bribe them to take the fall for all the shit we did and they didn't know any better and then your mom would punish us twice?"

Spencer joined in the laughter, nodding. "Dude, and the first time my mom punished you and you told her she couldn't 'cause she wasn't your mom? And so she sent you to the corner for mouthing off?"

"I love your mom, man." Ryan sighed, looking out the window wistfully. "Seriously. I hope I'm as good at this as she was."

It was quiet for a moment, just the sound of the music and the other cars on the road. Spencer was wrestling with the words in his head, knowing he _had_ to say it, just not sure how. "You . . . you're not going to end up like your dad, Ry. You know better."

The older of the two nodded stiffly, still looking out the window. He hoped Spencer was right, but he wasn't the optimist that Brendon was. He saw the worst case scenario most of the time because that was what he liked to write. "I need to pee again."

"Just wait until we get through the city," Spencer said, turning his full concentration back to the road.

\---

They got their hotel room around seven. Ryan went to take a shower while Spencer brought in the suitcases and called a Chinese restaurant that delivered. The drive hadn't been that bad. No major traffic jams and they hadn't seen any accident, just a small fender bender when they first crossed the state line into Utah. If the traffic and weather continued and everything went according to plan, they'd make it past Denver the next day, then past Des Moines, and then into Chicago on the fourth day.

Spencer had every intention of convincing Pete to make Ryan stay in Chicago to have the baby. And after he did that, he planned to go surprise Haley at her apartment. He deserved to get something out of this crazy road trip, especially since he was doing all the driving. (Not that he would have let Ryan drive anyway.)

He plugged his laptop in and his cell phone, turning on the television set. He wanted to check the weather, his e-mail, and see if there were any pictures of Ryan popping in and out of gas stations on the gossip sites. There were no such pictures.

\---

They were about an hour from Denver when it happened. Ryan was sleeping, head against the window, drooling slightly, when he woke up to the loud, incessant beeping. Spencer was gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. "Is that your _phone_?" Ryan asked, confused.

"I think it's your wristband," Spencer said, shortly, his lips hardly moving with the words.

Ryan shook his head. "No. No, it's not. I'm not even eight months yet."

The other boy switched lanes, his face not even showing a hint of a smile. "I'm getting off at the next exit, but . . . yeah, you're in labor, Ryan."

"I'm not. The baby's not even . . ." And then he screamed. A small scream, but certainly not a scream anyone should be making in the middle of traffic on the interstate. The contraction had only been for a few seconds. It hadn't even hurt all that bad, he just hadn't been expecting it. He couldn't feel the baby kicking, just movement. Like fluttering on crack. "I'm not far enough along yet," he whispered as they made their way onto the exit, pulling into the first gas station they saw.

Spencer turned the car off and was immediately digging around in the back seat, looking for the bag he'd put the wristband and the charger in. When he emerged, he was holding the white device in his hand. It was screaming and the little red lights were flashing.

Ryan stared at it, his eyes welling up with hot, angry tears. It wasn't _fair_. His arms wrapped around his stomach, protectively, not wanting the baby to think it was _his_ fault, but wonder why the hell this couldn't this have waited until September like it was supposed to. "It's false labor," he whispered, his voice thick but somewhat hopeful. "It's false labor, Spin. False contractions."

The boy wasn't buying it for a minute. "Well, if it is, they'll be able to tell us at the hospital." He held out the wristband to Ryan, hoping that actually holding and touching the device might make him realize what was going on. Then he shut the car door and ran into the gas station.

Ryan gingerly held the device in his hands, feeling the tears break the barrier of his eyes and slip down his cheeks. It seemed like the beeping was getting quieter, but that was only because he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. It was as though he could hear the rush of blood through his body. All the sounds were growing distant. Ryan didn't even look up with the driver's door opened and Spencer climbed in, closing it shut behind him.

They were already out of the parking lot and back on the interstate before Ryan realized they were moving. "Wh-Where are we going?"

"Hospital should take about twenty minutes to get to," Spencer said, grabbing the wristband out of Ryan's hand and putting it in the center console, fumbling around in the backseat and producing a tee shirt to put over it, shutting the console again to try and muffle the noise. He glanced at Ryan. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

The older boy shook his head, still trying to grasp what was going on. "I don't want to go to the hospital," he whispered. "I want to go get Pete."

The younger boy shook his head, checking over his shoulder before moving into the faster lane of traffic to his left. "Pete's going to have to come to us, Ry."

"But I--"

"You're in labor," Spencer interrupted. "I'm not driving you to Chicago while you're in labor. Are you freakin' mental?" The way he looked at Ryan was probably what set the older off, like he were a bug or had just sprouted a new appendage from his face.

When Ryan spoke it was a half-hysterical almost-scream. "It's not like my water's going to break and I'll have the baby in the damn car. They have to operate. We can still drive there."

Spencer's eyes widened slightly at the suggestion that Ryan seemed to believe was actually an option. "I'm taking you to the hospital," he said in a low voice. "They give you that wristband for a reason."

The boy opened the console, rolling down his window and tossing both the shirt and the wristband onto the street, expression defiant as he turned back to Spencer. "There. Wristband's gone."

"Ryan, you idiot." The boy swore, running a hand through his hair. "We're not going to Chicago, okay? I'll call Pete when we get there. You have to go to the hospital. You can't 'just wait', all right? If the baby's in you for longer than it needs to be, then it'll get hurt."

"He hasn't been in long enough!" Ryan shrieked. He slumped forward, arms around his stomach again, defeated. "I can't do anything right," he whispered. "I can't even keep a baby in me for long enough."

Spencer's hand reached out, rubbing at Ryan's shoulder for a moment. "This isn't your fault. It just happens."

Ryan continued to cry until they had reached the hospital parking lot. Then he had another fleeting contraction before he climbed out of the front seat that wiped the tears from his eyes. "I wish Pete were here," he whispered to Spencer as they walked to the doors of the emergency room.

The younger boy had a protective arm around Ryan's waist, the other resting on his shoulder. "I'll call him as soon as we get you checked in, okay? He's going to fly right out, Ry, I know he will."

Ryan nodded, his arms still wrapped around his stomach.

\---

The nurse that helped Ryan with his admission was named Jackie. She looked like she was only a few years older than him, with hair a shade darker. "How far along did you say you were?" she asked as she helped him onto the table.

"Thirty-five weeks," Ryan whispered, laying back when she told him to.

"I'm going to do a quick ultrasound," she told him, "just to make sure these aren't false contractions. It's rare in men, but it does happen. I'll also be checking to see if there's anything we can give you to stop the labor." She gave him a soft smile. "I'll bring your husband back as soon as he finishes filling out the forms."

"He's not my husband," Ryan told her as she squirted the ultrasound gel onto his stomach. "He's just a friend. We were driving to Chicago to get my husband." He turned his head away from her, his nose stinging with the threat of tears.

"Sometimes it takes twelve hours before you're ready to deliver," the woman said gently. "There's still a chance he could make it out here."

Ryan appreciated the sentiment.

\---

Pete was lying on the pull-out couch in his parents' basement when his cell phone started to vibrate somewhere near his head. He hadn't been answering it, just checking to see who was calling before grunting and tossing it somewhere else so he wouldn't have to deal with it. If it wasn't Ryan or Patrick, he didn't care. Unfortunately, the name showing on his caller ID right now was Spencer's and Pete knew Spencer was staying with Ryan because Patrick had told him. So, reluctantly, he hit the 'accept' button and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked, voice cracking from disuse. He'd just woke up from a ten hour nap.

"Ryan's in labor," Spencer said, voice quicker than usual, but not frantic. "We're in this town about half an hour outside Denver."

Pete wasn't sure what he was supposed to focus on at that moment: the fact that Ryan was having the baby or that Ryan was thirty miles from Denver while he was almost eight months pregnant. "You're in _Denver_?" he croaked out, reaching for the glass of stale water next to the bed to clear his throat.

Spencer hesitated, like a child who's just been caught in a lie. "Ryan . . . wanted to come see you in Chicago," he mumbled, feeling the heat rise up in his cheeks. "I didn't have a choice." But as quickly as the embarrassment had come, it was pushed aside by logic and Spencer's inordinate sense of responsibility where Ryan was concerned. "You need to get the first ticket you can to Denver. I'll text you where we are."

"Is he . . . okay?" Pete asked, sitting up, his head suddenly drowning in the actuality of the situation. "He's not due until the middle of September, Spence. It's only the beginning of August."

"He'll be fine. Just get out here or I'm going to strangle you with your own bass strings when we get back to L.A." He hung up the phone and smiled at the receptionist who was giving him a rather peturbed look of her own. "I don't have his insurance information," Spencer said, handing her the rest of the paperwork he'd filled out. "But his husband'll be here later. I don't know his doctor's name either, but you can ask Ryan."

She gave him a stiff nod and pursed her lips as she entered the information into the computer. "Anna, will you please take this gentleman back to Ryan Ross's room?" she asked the pretty blonde girl in the other chair who had to be just out of college.

Anna smiled, a little too happily, nodding. "Right this way, please," she chirped as she walked around the desk, beckoning the boy with her finger. "I think it's just so sweet how well you're taking care of your friend," she purred as they made their way through the corridors and, finally, to an elevator.

"Thanks," Spencer said, voice dry. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. "Did they, uh, take him to the maternity ward?"

The girl nodded. "At least it's a weekday," she said.

Spencer didn't understand what she meant. "Sorry."

"It's a weekday," Anna repeated. "So hopefully his husband can get a flight in." She walked him down the hallway, babbling about where he could get coffee and where the vending machines were. When they stopped outside Ryan's door, she gave him a smile with the tiniest hint of smirk. "My shift doesn't end until six, so if you need anything, I'll be downstairs. Anything at all."

Spencer gave a somewhat fake smile before slipping into the hospital room. "That nurse totally wants to sleep with me," he told Ryan as he pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. He leaned in, squeezing Ryan's hand in his. The boy in the bed looked pale, drained. He was in a hospital gown, but he smiled weakly at the other boy. "You okay, Ry?"

"Did you call Pete?" the boy asked, not answering the question. The answer relied too much on the answer he received to give it anyway.

"He's coming," Spencer said with a nod. "He'll be here, Ry."

The boy squeezed Spencer's hand back, tighter than the younger boy expected, causing him to wince slightly. Ryan leaned in closer, his eyes probing. "And if Pete . . . if he doesn't get here in time . . . you'll stay with me, right?" His voice was desperate, pleading. "Please, Spin."

"I won't go anywhere," the younger boy promised.

\---

In Chicago, Pete was throwing his iPod and cell phone charger into his suitcase, along with the handful of clothes that he'd scooped off the floor. He really didn't care what he was packing at this point. He just made sure he had a journal and an iPod so he wouldn't end up overdosing on Xanax during the flight. "Mom?" he called, walking up the stairs, suitcase in his hand. "I need a ride."

"Just take the car," the woman called from the living room.

Pete set his suitcase down and went into the room where his mother was watching television. "I can't take the car," he told her. "I need a ride. To the airport. Ryan's in labor."

Dale turned, eyes widenening as she did. "I thought he wasn't due until September."

"He's not," Pete said, hands checking his pockets for his wallet and phone. "So can you, like, shoes and stuff? Please? Now?" His wallet wasn't in his pocket. "Dammit." He took off for the basement again, leaving his mother to sit on the couch for a moment before launching herself up, slipping on the first pair of shoes she could find, grabbing the car keys off the table. "Andy!" she called up the the stairs at her youngest son who was home from college for summer break.

The boy appeared after a moment, looking like he'd just woken up. "I'm taking Pete to the airport. Ryan's having the baby. Call your dad and Hilary and let them know."

Pete came up from the basement, checking his wallet to make sure he had his ID and credit cards before picking the suitcase back up. "Mom, come on," he said, walking toward the door. "I don't even have a ticket yet. We need to go." He was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from letting the tears that he could feel in his chest slip out.

The two of them made their way out to the car, Pete putting his suitcase in the backseat. "I'll drive," he offered, holding his hand out for the keys, but his mother shook her head.

"You're too anxious. You'll get us in a car accident."

As if that were a reminder, Pete climbed into the front seat of the car and immediately began digging around in his suitcase. "Just go," he told his mother, while she waited for him to sit down properly and buckle. "I'm just looking for something."

Uncertainly, years of experience and scolding her children to 'sit down and face forward' working against her, Dale put the car into drive and slowly pulled out down the street. Pete, meanwhile, had found the Xanax bottle and had shaken two pills into his hand, popping them into his mouth and dry swallowing without water. Finally, he slipped back down into his seat, pulling the belt across his chest. "Do you think I'll be able to get a flight?" he asked, concern finally evident in his voice for the first time since he'd come out of the basement.

"It's a Wednesday, honey. I'm sure they have flights available." She got onto the interstate, calculating the time in her head. "Not that you should have left Los Angeles in the first place," she added.

"I know, Mom," Pete muttered, turning and staring out the window, letting his forehead rest against the warm glass. He could feel the tears threatening to spill again. He knew he never should have let L.A. He had just convinced himself if he had, that Ryan would _have_ to talk to him. He'd never expected the idiot to drive to Chicago to have that conversation. At least Spencer was there. That was the only consolation he could think of at this point. Spencer would be able to keep Ryan from completely losing his mind.

"It'll be okay, baby," she said, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. "I'm sure it'll all be fine."

Pete wasn't so sure, but he nodded anyway, crossing his fingers that there would be a flight, that he'd be able to get to the hospital in time, that he'd be able to fix this mistake that was all his fault.

\---

"It's all my fault," Ryan whispered to Spencer. "Fuck. If I hadn't overreacted or kicked him out, this wouldn't be happening." There were tears in the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them tightly shut, trying to erase his surroundings. He didn't want this to be happening. Not now, not here. And as much as he loved his best friend, not with Spencer.

"It's not your fault he went to Chicago," Spencer said sternly. "And it's not your fault he brought those girls home." He moved from the chair, sitting on the edge of Ryan's bed. "Look at me, Ry," he ordered, voice even, but firm. The boy in the bed opened his eyes slowly. "It's your fault we're in Colorado. It's not your fault he fucked up. It's your fault you wouldn't talk to him, but it's his fault that he left instead of talking to you. Pete's coming. You'll fix everything then, okay?"

Ryan nodded, trying to fight back the rest of the tears, trying to force a smile that didn't quite make it to his face before Spencer's phone rang.

"Damn." The younger boy stood up, checking the ID before pressing the device to his ear. _'It's Pete,'_ he mouthed to Ryan, turning away from the bed to take the call. "Hello?"

"I got a flight. I just went through security. Plane lands in about two and a half hours and I'll have a rental car waiting so hopefully just three hours, three and a half." There was a brief hesitation on the line. "Will I make it?"

Spencer sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I don't know."

The boy on the other line licked his dry lips. "Okay. Just . . . just take care of him for me if I don't."

"I will," Spencer promised.

"Can I talk to him?"

The boy turned toward the bed, pressing the phone against his chest to muffle the sound. "Do you want to talk to him?" he asked Ryan.

The boy nodded, holding his hand out immediately and pressing the phone to his ear when Spencer handed it over. "Baby?" he whispered, voice cracking.

"Hey, Ry," Pete said gently, the tears he had been fighting finally filling his eyes. "Spin says you're doing really good, baby. I'm going to be there as soon as I can."

Ryan squeezed the phone tighter, as if by doing so Pete would be able to feel it through the lines, like a hug. "I . . . I love you," he said, voice shaking. "I didn't want to tell you over the phone, but I just . . . I want you to know before you get on the plane. I love you. For real." He sniffled, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. He looked up to gauge Spencer's reaction, but the boy had already quietly slipped from the room into the hallway. "I'm glad I married you," he added, voice hot and fierce even through the tears.

Pete nodded, not sure if he could speak and keep from crying. He stopped and leaned against the wall near an empty pay phone bank. "I love you too, Ry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have left. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for the girls, too." He ran a hand through his hair, mentally cursing at himself. "I just . . ."

"We'll talk about it later," Ryan said, his own tears slowing. "Not right now. The nurse is back, baby, I need to go," he murmured.

"I love you, baby. I'll see you soon," Pete said desperately, wishing he could say more, but not having the words. "It's all going to be okay, Ry," he added at the last moment, wiping at the tears that were now slipping down his cheeks.

"See you soon," Ryan murmured. He ended the call, holding the phone to his chest for a moment. The nurse gave him a soft smile, lifting up the side of the blanket to feel his stomach.

"Contractions getting worse?" she asked. "Or staying the same?"

"I'm having them a little more but they aren't hurting any worse," Ryan said, smiling weakly when Spencer came back in the room. He held out the phone, which the other boy took, sitting back down in his chair. "I told him," he whispered. "He's not gonna get here in time, is he?"

"I don't know, Ry," Spencer said, reaching out to squeeze Ryan's hand, brushing the hair from the other boy's forehead. "But he _will_ get here."

\---

Pete was on the plane, listening to Panic's first album, trying to level out his breathing, trying not to imagine that Ryan was in the delivery room now, scared, shaking, wondering where he was. He hated himself for what he let happen, for what he pretended was okay. And if he hadn't decided to play the bachelor for one stupid night, he'd be holding Ryan's hand right now and their own doctor would be getting ready to perform the C-section.

He tugged his earphones out when the stewardess came around with drinks. Pete was sitting in a first class seat next to the window and the flight was only half full. "Can I get, like, a gin and tonic?" he asked.

"I'll just need to see your ID," she said with a small smile. After checking his birthdate, she handed it back. "I know I recognized you," she added with a grin. "How's that husband of yours?"

"Great," Pete lied. "Totally pissed I made him stay home, but, yeah, fine." He nodded, flashing a quick smile.

The woman recognized her dismissal. "I'll be back in a moment with your drink. Just let me know if there's anything else you need." She turned on her heels and walked back up the aisle.

Pete put his earphones back in and stared out the window, hoping against hope that he'd make it in time.

\---

"We're going to start prepping for surgery," a nurse said, pulling Spencer into the hallway. "You're more than welcome to say with him, but we need to get you washed up and into scrubs." She lead him down the hallway and had him wash his hands, then helped him put on the scrubs over his clothes. "I know it seems like a lot, but we want to keep the room sterile," she explained as she also handed him a mask, gloves, and something to put over his hair.

"The baby's going to be okay, right?" Spencer asked. He never would have asked if he'd been in the room with Ryan, but he could ask now.

The woman gave a reassuring smile. "He's almost eight months along. Statistically, changes are the that the baby will be fine, just underweight." Spencer moved to grab her wrist as she began to turn, thinking better of it and letting his hand fall back to his side. But the woman turned to look at him, cocking her head to the side. "Something else?"

"I know there's risks."

She sighed, not unkindly. "The baby might develop some infections, but they're generally easily treated. He might need help breathing for awhile, but he might not. The long term affects are rare and not very severe." She smiled before putting on her mask. "Now come on. We're going to start soon."

When they reentered the room, Ryan looked up at Spencer, giving a small smile and looking absolutely terrified. There was a sheet hanging across his abdomen, serving as a screen so he wouldn't have to see the doctor and nurses working. Spencer took a deep breath and then moved next to the bed, putting his hand on top of Ryan's. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know you wish it were Pete."

"I just don't to be alone," Ryan said in a voice quieter than a whisper, not wanting anyone else in the room to hear. He didn't even like admitted his weaknesses to Spencer, let alone a room full of strangers.

"Okay, we're getting ready to start," one of the nurses said. "You might feel some pressure, Ryan, but you're not going to feel any pain." She looked at Spencer. "It's fine for him to talk during the procedure, just try to keep the conversation calm."

He nodded, looking back at Ryan. "I bet you really didn't plan on this when you decided to go to Chicago, huh?" Spencer teased.

Ryan gave a weak laugh. "Yeah, but I knew it would happen eventually. You had no idea you were going to have to watch." He squeezed the boy's hand. "Thank you."

Spencer shook his head. "Don't mention it."

Ryan gave a small gasp. It wasn't pain. It was that pressure the nurse had mentioned. It felt like four or five cold hands pressing down on his stomach, squeezing. And he immediately stopped thinking about Pete and started thinking about Oliver, wondering if the baby was scared, if he'd come out kicking. And would he be healthy? Was it his fault he'd gone into labor early? Had he been too stressed? Could stress trigger early labor?

"We didn't set up the crib yet," Ryan said. "We didn't get the nursery done." A tear slid down his cheek. How could he have not gotten the nursery ready? Why had he wasted so much time second-guessing his marriage?

"I'm sure Pete'll get it taken care of," Spencer said gently. "Don't worry about it, Ry. Oliver'll never know."

Ryan nodded, his eyes feeling heavy. "I'm tired," he mumbled. "Am I supposed to be tired?"

Spencer felt Ryan's hand go limp before he heard the machines start beeping. A nurse was pushing him out of the room while he was still yelling Ryan's name, trying to figure out what had just happened. "You need to stay out here," she told him. And then she was gone and Spencer was left standing in that hallway, feeling useless. He'd promised Ryan he'd stay. But he was trying to look through a door without windows.

\---

Ryan felt like he was floating for the moment before he opened his eyes. And when they did open, there was a boy sitting in the chair, his head lying on top of his arms on the hospital bed. Ryan lifted his hand up, his fingers gently brushing through the black hair.

Pete sat up, relief spreading across his face as he stood, his lips pressing against Ryan's mouth, desperate. "I was so worried," he breathed.

Ryan blinked, vaguely remembering that the C-section seemed to have ended without a baby. "I passed out?" he asked, voice soft.

Pete nodded. "You're okay though. Nothing bad happened. Your blood pressure just dropped too quickly." His thumb brushed over Ryan's bottom lip. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

Ryan opened his mouth to reply, but then his eyes flashed with realization. "The baby? Where's the baby? Oliver. Is he okay?" He sounded frantic, trying to sit up.

Pete gentle pushed him back down. "He's fine, Ry. I saw him." Pete's voice started to crack. "He's beautiful." He nodded. "A little small because he's early, but he's perfect. I'll have the nurse bring him in, okay? Just . . . don't move too much, okay? You have staples in you."

Ryan nodded, lying back down, watching Pete disappear into the hallway for a minute. As soon as Pete was gone, Spencer poked his head in, giving a shaky smile. "Hey. Dude, you gave me a heart attack, I swear." He gave the boy in the bed a gentle hug. "And your baby's adorable."

"Thank you for everything," Ryan told him. "Really, thank you."

Spencer nodded. "I'm gonna get out of here and let you and Pete have some time alone. I checked into a hotel. I just, um, wanted to tell you . . . I told Pete what you said about the nursery. He called Patrick and you'll have one when you get home."

Ryan smiled, a geniune smile, his face looking younger than it had in a while. "Thanks. Now, get out of here." He pushed at Spencer jokingly. "You deserve some sleep."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Spencer said, nodding. He left and Pete came back in a few minutes later.

"The nurse is going to bring him in." Pete sat down on the edge of the bed, taking one of Ryan's hands in both of his. "Look, before we get all carried away with the baby stuff . . ." He sighed, staring at their hands clasped together, searching for the words he'd memorized and repeated and then, somehow, forgotten. "I would haven't done anything with those girls, but I know I shouldn't have brought them back. It was wrong. I just . . . felt single and got carried away and . . . it was stupid."

Ryan brought his free hand up, letting it rest on Pete's cheek, causing the other boy to look at him with soft brown eyes. "I think I forgot that this marriage wasn't just new to me," Ryan murmured. "I think I expected too much from you. Next time I'll try to talk to you before I flip out, okay?"

Pete nodded, twisting his head to plant a soft kiss to the inside of Ryan's wrist.

The door opened and a nurse Ryan didn't recognize came in with the baby in the hospital crib. "Would you like to meet your son?" she asked. Her smile was so geniune as she lifted the baby up and brought him over.

Ryan was certain he'd cried enough in the past eight months to last him the rest of his life, but the tears came again as the nurse laid Oliver in his arms. "And he's healthy?" Ryan asked, looking at her. He had to be sure, had to hear it one more time.

"He weighs a little less than he would if you'd been full-term, but he's perfectly healthy. You'll need to watch him and he might get colds and things easier in the first year, but you have a healthy baby boy." She smiled at the three of them on the bed. "I'll give you some time alone now. We can fill out the birth certificate later."

The last time Ryan had held a baby it was a friend in Vegas who had an eight-month-old who just thrust her child into his arms and said, _"here, hold him while I get his bottle."_ She had laughed at Ryan after, said he was holding the baby like a sack of potatoes. Ryan wasn't sure he'd improved at all, but Pete just smiled.

"You just need to make sure you support his head because he's not strong enough to hold it up himself yet," he said gently. "He's got your nose. And your eyes."

"He's not kicking anymore." Ryan chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss the newborn on the top of his head. "No one to kick?" he cooed. "He smells so clean." Pete pulled his phone out of his pocket and Ryan shook his head, turning away. "I look shit," he protested.

"You're beautiful," Pete told him earnestly. "Now look at me and smile so I can get a picture of you with our baby."

Slowly, Ryan turned back toward the camera, looking down at the baby and then up at his husband. He'd felt so ugly during the pregnancy and now he could understand why, looking up from the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. But Pete had just called him beautiful, even though his hair hadn't been washed since the surgery and he was wearing a drab hospital gown. In that moment, Ryan thought maybe he was beginning to understand what being married meant.


	5. Those Tiny Fingernails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Ryan lifted Oliver from the carseat, where he was sleeping, tucking the baby into his chest and rubbing his back, trying to keep him from waking up. Pete was waiting at the door, holding it open for the pair of them, a diaper bag slung over his shoulder, pressing his lips to Ryan's cheek in a sloppy but sweet kiss. "I'll get the bags a little later," he said softly, waiting a moment before following Ryan and baby up the stairs.

Brendon was sitting on the kitchen counter when the three of them walked in. Patrick was getting something out of the fridge and Spencer had just walked into the room with his laptop. The six of them all seemed to stop and look at each other in slow motion, most eyes being directed at the bundle in Ryan's arms. "Is he sleeping?" Brendon asked, slipping from the counter to quietly walk over and stand behind Ryan's shoulder.

The boy nodded tiredly. "Yeah. He fell asleep about an hour before we hit L.A." His amber eyes drifted to Patrick and then flicked back to Brendon. "Do you want to hold him?" he asked quietly. Brendon nodded solemnly, letting Ryan lay the infant in his arms, looking more comfortable with the situation than Ryan had a few days ago in the hospital bed.

Pete moved in closer to Brendon, monitoring the boy with his son as Ryan moved into the kitchen for a moment, where Patrick was still standing. "Hey," he mumbled, a slight blush creeping up into his cheeks. "I, um . . . I'm sorry about--"

"Forget about it," Patrick said with a dismissive wave of his hand and a soft smile. "You could have told me you were going though. I would have come with."

"Spencer took good care of me," Ryan said with a small nod at the other boy. "Come on." He grabbed Patrick's hand, tugging him into the entryway where Brendon was still holding Oliver. "Come meet the baby."

Brendon wordlessly handed the infant over to Patrick, who looked slightly less at ease, but still knew how to properly hold the child. Oliver's eyes opened and closed, displaying brown irises. Ryan immediately tensed, nudging Pete with his elbow. "Bottle, please?" he asked, eyes pleading, hoping they could stop the cries before they started.

His husband immediately moved toward the kitchen, pulling a bottle from the diaper bag as he moved. "How much did he weigh?" Patrick asked Ryan.

"Six pounds, two ounces." Oliver started to cry and Ryan immediately reclaimed the baby, pressing the screaming face into his chest, one hand stroking the down-like hair on the newborn's scalp. "Shh, shh. It's okay. Daddy's making a bottle," he cooed. "We'll feed you in a second. It'll be fine."

Spencer hid a smile behind his hand, exchanging a knowing look with Brendon that was only noticed by Patrick. Pete returned with the bottle, holding it out to Ryan, who immediately switched the baby into a lying position, popping the bottle in his mouth. The crying stopped and all five men immediately turned into puddles of goo, leaning over to watch the baby drinking, awwing at the sight.

"And look at those tiny fingernails," Brendon said. "God, babies are, like, cute enough to eat."

Ryan took a step backward, a frown on his face, and everyone laughed.

"Come on," Patrick said, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "I'll show you the nursery."

"No, we will show him," Brendon interrupted, rushing to walk beside Patrick. "Considering you made me work like a contractor and didn't even pay me. He made me paint, Ryan," he said in scandalized tones, glancing over his shoulder to look at the boy.

Pete was walking next to his husband, an arm around Ryan's shoulders, both of them watching their son drinking from the bottle. The nursery was light green with a beautiful wooden crib and a changing table. The old bed in the room was gone, but the dresser and television remained. "I didn't know where you wanted that," Patrick explained. "The bed's in the basement for now."

Ryan walked around the room, slowly looking at the walls. There was a picture of the three of them that had been taken in Ryan's hospital bed with Spencer's camera that was now framed and hanging over the crib. The other frames were drawings and images of Disney characters.

"You can switch that picture out for a real one," Patrick told Pete in an undertone. "I just thought it might, you know."

Pete just turned wordlessly, his face falling into his best friend's shoulder and arms coming up around to give him a loose hug. "It's perfect, 'Trick," he breathed. "You're a miracle worker."

"I helped!" Brendon chimed in, sounding incredibly put out.

Spencer punched him in the arm. "If your bottom lip sticks out any further, it's going to catch on something."

The room was filled with laughter and Ryan stepped away from the walls to let Spencer take the baby, finish giving Oliver the bottle. Pete held out his hand and Ryan took it, giving a single squeeze and smiling at Patrick in gratitude for what he'd accomplished. "Thank you," he said, voice sounding constricted. "I mean, just, all of you for . . . being here."

"Dude, that's what family's for," Brendon said brightly, looking down at the baby in the drummer's arms. "By the way, I have dibs on godfather."

"Over my dead body," Spencer snapped.

Pete laughed, pulling Ryan closer and then pulling him down for a kiss. They were home.


End file.
